Mickey Milkovich, Crime Fighter
by pinkskyline
Summary: 10 years after Ian broke up with Mickey, Mickey is working with the police to take down a prostitution ring when he rescues Ian from his abusive, pimp boyfriend. Now they're working together to help the police take Ian's ex and the whole outfit down.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I really wanted to call this fic 'The Whore Whisperer' but I wasn't sure if that would comply with the website's guidelines. Mickey works with the police in this story but I swear that isn't as OOC as you'd think. And Ian doesn't seem very bad-ass at the beginning but will gradually regain his badassery as it goes on. This fic takes place ten years after the end of season 5 when Ian breaks up with Mickey, and hopefully after season 6 will be completely AU because Mickey and Ian will get back together and everything will be amazing and happy for them (I'm deluded, I know).**

 **Warnings: Canon-typical swearing, violence, and discussion of prostitution, drugs and abuse. Brief mention of child sex-slaves in the context of a previous police investigation-nothing specific or graphic (appears in later chapters). Mentions of bipolar disorder and mentions of a suicide attempt in later chapters. Relatively tame gay sex in later chapters. Basically if you've actually watched the show _Shameless_ and not been terribly offended, you're good. It's actually probably tame in comparison to the show. Incidentally, I don't own the show _Shameless_ and am only writing this for entertainment purposes. **

"You ready for this?" Jordan asked Mickey.

Mickey pulled the slide on his Glock and released it, and then nodded. If someone had told him ten years ago he'd be pulling shit like this, he'd have said they were bat-shit crazy. But here he was, going into a brothel with a cop to tear the place up.

Jordan gestured to the young cop with the battering ram to smash open the door, and then went in, hollering for everyone to get down on the ground. The six-man team burst in after Jordan and spread out. Mickey could hear their half-panicked, half-angry shouts as they rampaged through the place.

Mickey waited until he heard the all-clear then put his gun back in his holster. He wasn't a cop, not really, and he didn't want to get shot doing some stupid cop bullshit. He'd been shot three times before he turned twenty-one and he wasn't about to get shot again if he could help it.

"Mickey!" Jordan called.

He ran towards her voice and saw some sad-sack coked-out asshole sitting in a corner while Jordan tried to pull paperwork out of the toilet.

"You really tried to flush files? Paper ain't the same as coke, douchebag," Mickey said to the guy on the floor.

"Looks like we got someone with a real hard-on for keeping records. Why do criminals do that when they gotta know that's how we make the charges stick?" Jordan asked Mickey.

"Paperwork is the curse of middle-management everywhere. Bosses like to make sure their underlings ain't screwing them. I always said it was better to get fucked by your employees than to get fucked by the cops," Mickey said.

"And yet here you are, working for me," Jordan grinned. "Grab those evidence bags for me, would ya?"

Mickey held the bag open, feeling his own lips twitch with a reluctant smile. She stuffed the paper unceremoniously in the bag and Mickey zipped it up. "You gonna let jitterbug over there watch?" he asked.

"Miles, get this bitch in cuffs," Jordan called.

Mickey put on rubber gloves and proceeded to give the office what Jordan affectionately called 'the Mickey pat-down'. He had always had a fondness for hidden compartments and boobie-traps, so he reasoned that he probably wasn't the only one. He'd probably saved a crime scene investigator from losing a hand the last time he'd disarmed a trap, so Jordan let him do his thing. He ran his hand over the desk, then on the underside, then opened the drawers—

"You're going to do this all day, aren't you?" Jordan asked.

"Just give me a minute," Mickey said. "There's a safe in this room. Address this nice? I can fucking smell the money."

"Jesus," Jordan muttered, rolling her eyes. "I guess it's useless for me to tell you the team will strip that room eventually, ain't it? Find me out front when you get to the end of the rainbow, aight?"

Mickey ignored her and then moved to the wall. Around the back of a curio case he found a hinge, and then on the other side, a latch. It opened with the flip of a switch, and then he was confronted with a combination safe. "Yahtzee," Mickey muttered.

It wasn't like Mickey could actually crack a safe, and he wasn't even sure if their warrant would allow them to open it, so he checked the room for boobie-traps one last time and then made his way out to the main room. The brothel was in a huge penthouse, but nevertheless, the sheer number of clients and their 'dates' was a little surprising. There were probably twenty whores, both male and female, all in various states of near nudity, and about six men who looked like stockbrokers or something—presumably the clients, although sometimes it was hard to tell.

"Everyone here?" Jordan asked.

"There's a guy giving us some trouble upstairs. I don't know if he's on something or if he's fucking crazy," Layton said. "He's locked in the room throwing shit around demanding to see Jorez."

Phil Jorez was a British national and the owner of the penthouse. He had connections to drugs and prostitution and, judging by how quickly he'd climbed the ranks of the Chicago underworld, probably had connections to things that were much worse.

"Why'd you give the all clear if there was a guy locked in his room?"

"He wasn't locked in his room _then_. He hasn't got any weapons or anything. He fucking got the jump on me and then got away from me, is that alright with you?" Layton asked.

Mickey raised an eyebrow. It was true that there were rarely weapons in brothels, other than ones worn by the madam or pimp. He looked at Jordan. "Want me to go check this out?"

Jordan smiled. "You go do your thang, because you _are_ the whore whisperer."

Mickey rolled his eyes. Generally what whores liked about him was that he was brutally honest—well, blunt—with them. They knew where he stood when he said shit. It didn't have fuck all to do with whispering.

He walked up with Layton, who knocked at the door. "Sir, you're going to have to come out now. We can and will break down the door," Layton said.

"I'm not like these other people. I don't work here. I just fucking live here," a muffled voice said.

"Well, you'll just have to come down to the station and we can sort all this out," Layton said.

Mickey was just about to ask why Layton didn't just knock the door down when there was a huge crash and several shouts and bangs. "What the fuck are you doing in there?" Mickey yelled over the noises.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the guy they sent to talk your crazy-ass down, so lucky me, right? Now you're my problem. So stop with the crazy shit and come the fuck out here."

To Mickey's complete surprise, he heard the sounds of something heavy falling to the floor and footsteps towards the door. The door was abruptly unlocked, and then opened just enough to show a partial face looking out. "Mickey?"

"Yeah, who the fuck—"

The door opened the rest of the way and Mickey was shocked to see Ian Gallagher standing in the doorway. Beyond the door Mickey could see he'd trashed the room, which was a whole lot nicer than the the bare cells the others had. Or had been nicer. The furniture was tossed around but it was quality stuff, and there were actual paintings on the wall. Ian looked like Ian always looked, amazing. He was wearing a t-shirt and paint-splattered jeans, and his hair was dyed black, but it was Ian fucking Gallagher.

Mickey pushed open the door and went in, closing the door in Layton's face. He heard some kind of mild protest from the officer, but it didn't really register. "Ian? No one's heard from you in years. Fiona and the rest of your sibs practically had a wake for you, you know? They think you're never coming back. They think you're dead. _I_ thought you were dead. You mean to tell me you've been in Chicago this whole time?"

Ian shrugged. He looked almost young enough to pass for the seventeen-year-old he'd been the last time Mickey had seen him, but he must be twenty-seven, now. "You a cop?" Ian asked.

"No. But I work for them," Mickey said. He knew the old Mickey would have been ashamed to admit it, but things had changed a lot in ten years and he was doing work that had to be done. Ian didn't seem upset that he was with the cops, though.

"Don't let them take me in, Mick. This would be my forth strike. I could go away for twenty-five years. I swear, I'm not even working here. Phil, the guy who runs this place, is my boyfriend. Only he's married and he won't admit to being gay so I live here so we can meet up. No one knows he even visits me," Ian said.

Mickey didn't bother to contradict that; he was sure everyone who worked in the brothel knew _exactly_ why Ian was there. He knew places like this and everyone knew everything about everyone else. "So if you don't work here, what do you do?"

"I run a video blog. You'd like it. I have lots of followers. It even makes a bit of money. I always hoped people back home would have stumbled on it and known I was okay."

"Yeah, you _could_ leave that shit to fate, or you could just pick up a goddamned phone," Mickey said.

Ian shrugged.

"So, you don't mind being a mistress after all, huh?" Mickey asked.

Ian looked at the floor, sullen and still.

Mickey sighed, grabbed Ian's shoulder and led him to the door. He opened it and pushed Ian ahead of him, letting his hand fall to the small of Ian's back and then taking it off as Ian walked down the stairs.

Jordan was talking to Layton in the entryway and looked up at Mickey, shook her head and smiled. "The whore whisperer strikes again."

Mickey hadn't felt the urge to punch Jordan this strongly in years. He crossed the room in a couple of easy strides and grabbed Jordan's arm. "I need to talk to you."

"Right in the middle of a bust, Mick? Seriously?"

"Now, Jordan," he said.

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics and pulled him into an adjacent room. "What the hell, Mickey?"

"You can't take that guy in," Mickey said.

"What? Look, Layton said you knew him, but—"

"This isn't an 'I know the guy I owe him a favor' thing. This is an 'I can't be on a team that puts him away' thing. If you arrest him, I'm out. Deal breaker. He walks or I do," Mickey said.

"You're not just a CI anymore, Mickey. You're an employee. You can't just walk. Anyway, if he really was just some whore I'd let you take him out of here in a minute, no questions asked. But he's Jorez's boyfriend. He's got an in with the guy and we've got to take advantage of that," Jordan said.

"He said it'll be his forth strike," Mickey said.

"Prostitution isn't even a felony," Jordan said. Mickey didn't argue, although he knew that if you'd been charged with prostitution several times in the past it could become a felony charge. She sighed. "Look, the fact that he's worried about going away makes him an even better person to lean on."

"Lean on some other fucker," Mickey said.

"How do you know this guy? Can you trust him?"

Mickey pushed his fist against his lips, thinking hard. He had no idea if he could trust Gallagher. He had even less clue if he could trust Jordan _with_ Gallagher. "We were on the same little league team. We went to school together and were neighbors our whole lives. Oh yeah, and he was my first boyfriend and even though he dumped my ass I still love him more than breathing," Mickey said.

Jordan whistled softly. "When's the last time you saw him?"

Mickey shrugged. "Ten years ago. He was in the middle of breaking up with me and his sister chased me all over the neighborhood with a gun until she managed to get a shot into my right shoulder. By the time I got out of the hospital he'd fucked off and we couldn't find him."

"Your ghetto sounds so much more entertaining than my ghetto ever was," Jordan snorted.

"Do we have to book him?" Mickey asked.

Jordan stared at the door behind Mickey, thinking hard apparently. Mickey gave her time. Finally, she said, "You think you can get him to talk?"

Mickey shook his head. "There's something fucked up going on here, I know that much. Gallagher was always a tough kid. In a lot of ways he was tougher than me. Wasn't afraid of anything. So what's he doing holed up in a brothel as some two-bit gangster's favorite lay? It doesn't make sense. It doesn't jive with who he is. I can't guarantee I can get him to cooperate because I can't see the guy I remember in him."

Jordan threw up her hands. "So I _shouldn't_ let you take him out of here, then? Is that what you're saying?"

"Gallagher came from my neighborhood. He's about as inclined to help the cops as I am—or was, you know, before. I don't think you have a chance at getting him to turn against Jorez if you arrest him and take him down to the station. I think Jorez must have something on him for Ian to even be with him at all; something worse than prison, probably. I can't promise you I can get him to talk, but I _can_ promise you that he won't talk to anyone but me."

"Fine," she said. "You take him home, though. You make him talk to you. You don't just send him off on his merry way. Did you at least find the safe?"

"Yep. It was hidden behind the curio case. I left that shit open but someone still has to crack the safe."

"I'm sure the brain-trust working in that office had the combo written down somewhere. You can find it when you're going through all the toilet-stained paperwork tomorrow," Jordan smiled.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm your bitch and I know it," Mickey said.

They went back into the entryway and Jordan gestured to Ian. "Take his cuffs off. He's being released into Milkovich's custody for the time being. But Mr. Gallagher, if you disappear, I'll put a warrant on you so fast you won't know what hit you."

Ian nodded, and looked at Mickey, the expression on his face strange.

"Let's go, Gallagher," Mickey said.


	2. Chapter 2

Ian went back up to his room and got his computer, phone, and some clothes he'd had before he got there and left it at that. He didn't want any of the things Phil had bought for him.

He got in Mickey's car, a dark sedan the make of which Ian didn't notice, and slumped down in his seat. "You gonna take me to Fiona's?"

Mickey looked over as he fastened his seatbelt. "Do you want me to?" he asked.

Ian shook his head emphatically.

"Guess not then," Mickey muttered. "I thought I could take you to my place, at least for now. You don't have another place to go, right? You don't have like, a regular apartment somewhere that's not in a brothel?"

"Nope, no place to go," Ian said through clenched teeth.

"Don't get fuckin' mad, Ian. I didn't exactly plan this," Mickey said.

Ian knew he shouldn't be angry with Mickey. He knew the guy had probably put his job on the line to help him and he should be thanking him. But no one had ever accused Ian of being a guy who knew how to graciously accept help, and it stuck in his craw that the person who'd swooped in and rescued him was Mickey Milkovich. You always hoped when you saw a guy you'd dumped ten years ago you'd look amazing and they'd have at least gotten fat. But no, Mickey had some legit job, looked great and seemed well-adjusted, for once, and Ian had actually fallen lower than he'd ever been in the lowest points of their relationship.

Mickey must be so fucking happy he'd gotten away from Ian in time, and damn but that hurt. And it didn't just hurt his pride, it fucked with his heart, too—with that tiny corner of it that had always hoped he and Mickey might one day get back together.

As cliché as it sounded, the last time Ian remembered being really safe and happy was when Mickey had loved him.

Ian looked determinedly out the window as Mickey drove, taking them to a beautifully renovated apartment complex in the Southside, but not anywhere near their old neighborhood. "I thought you were against gentrification?"

"Hey, this part of town has never been a shithole. No one ever said the _entire_ Southside was a ghetto," Mickey said.

Ian mentally conceded that there were nice neighborhoods in the Southside, and this had always been one of them. "How'd you start working for the cops?" Ian asked.

Mickey sort of smiled and cocked his head towards the door. "Come on. I'll make you dinner."

Ian looked around the vintage one bedroom apartment in a kind of awe. It wasn't exactly beautifully decorated, but it was a gorgeous place with what looked like the original fireplace and moldings. It would look amazing if someone who actually noticed their surroundings had bought it. Surprisingly, the place was pretty clean. The only part of it that screamed Milkovich was the strangely shaped alcove, which Ian would have made an office nook, but which Mickey had apparently been using to collect empty beer bottles.

"This place double as a frat-house?" Ian asked.

Mickey gave him a look. "I don't even drink that much. I just don't got a lot of time to take the bottles back."

"Oh yeah, sure," Ian said sceptically. "How the hell can you afford this place?"

"Got it cheap. Bank foreclosed on the poor fucker who had it before me."

Mickey rooted around in the galley kitchen, the only room so far Ian thought might need a major reno, looking for something to make them. Finally, he shut the refrigerator door in disgust and muttered, "Fuck it. I'll order pizza. You still like meatlovers?"

Ian nodded, disconcerted that Mickey still remembered his favorite kind of pizza. It's not like he'd forgotten the things Mickey liked, either, but it was still surprising for some reason. Mickey made the call and Ian sat down on the leather couch, wondering how to turn on the TV and if it was rude to turn on the TV in a situation like this.

Mickey got them both a beer and then sat down on the arm of the sofa, looking down at Ian. Ian was shitting himself wondering if Mickey was going to make him tell him everything about Phil and why he ended up with the guy, but all he said was, "The fuck you dye your hair for?"

Ian reached up and touched his hair. For a minute he'd forgotten it was black. "Phil—Jorez—thought it made me look too special. The red. He thought people in the brothel—clients—would notice me and want me if they saw it. And I was serious. I wasn't at that brothel because I was for sale."

"Like dying your hair back makes you any less hot," Mickey scoffed.

"You think I should keep it black?" he asked.

"Fuck no. I mean, do what you want, but if I have a vote? Fuckin' ginger all the way."

"You never really told me what kind of guys you were into. I mean, half the time we were together you wouldn't even admit to being gay and I don't think you ever told me you found me attractive. I thought you were just into me because I was convenient, and then because you liked me, and then eventually because you loved me. You like redheads, huh?"

"It was weird. When we first hung out you were this cute kid with freckles and then you grew up to be this like, totally fine guy who could have been a model or some shit. And you still wanted me," Mickey said, sounding wistful.

"You're hot," Ian said defensively.

Mickey raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Whatever," he said.

When the pizza came they ate in silence, and then finally Mickey broached the subject Ian had been dreading. "You gotta know that the only reason you're not arrested right now is because I talked Jordan out of it. She wanted to lean on you and get you to talk about Jorez."

Ian felt sick, suddenly wishing he hadn't eaten any of the pizza. "I can't say anything against him. I can't."

"You love him?" Mickey asked quietly.

Ian debated lying, and finally decided he couldn't handle having Mickey think he loved Phil. Mickey and Phil might have both been pimps, but their approaches to the job were pretty fucking different. Mickey had exploited the girls, sure, but Phil treated his whores like sub-humans. He didn't want Mickey thinking he could love a guy like that. He shook his head.

"So what's he have on you?"

"It's a long story. I was pretty messed up after I left home the last time. Stripping, tricking, you know. I got in trouble with the law a couple of times, started doing heavier drugs…I got kind of in debt to Phil cause he deals on the side," Ian said.

"Were you sleeping with him?"

"Not at first. He let me pay for drugs with a blowjob here and there, and then he gave me harder drugs and started asking for more than blowjobs to pay for them. I guess I overdosed, and he moved me in with some cousin of his and hired a private nurse to help me get clean. I was really grateful to him for letting me stay with his cousin and cleaning me up, so we started actually dating."

"I can see why you wanted him. I mean, he sounds like a total prince," Mickey said dryly.

"Anyway, I found out about his wife and family, and I broke up with him. I moved out of his cousin's place and refused to tell him where I was going, got on meds for the bipolar, and got a retail job. I managed to get an apartment with some roommates, buy a computer, and start up my video blog."

"But he found you."

"Yeah, he played this whole guilt-card like I was the love of his life and I owed him for all the money he spent getting me clean and taking care of me," Ian said.

"You used to be just fine with taking money from your rich boyfriends and feeling no obligation to them," Mickey said.

"Yeah, well, his guilt-trips sounded an awful-lot like threats, and so I went along with his demands for a while. He said he wanted to be my friend and just 'be around me', so I hung out with him a bit."

"And then?"

"It wasn't enough for him. He wanted me back. He threatened my family. Lip and Debbie both have kids now, which I know because he showed me pictures of them and told me they'd pay if I didn't do what he wanted. I don't even know how he knew about my family. I guess he must have asked me about my past while I was a high and he fucking held on to the information until it was useful to him. He said he'd kill them if I ever left him, and I know he's got the connections to actually do it."

Mickey looked thoughtful. "Wouldn't it have made more sense for him to just keep you high? He had everything he wanted, then. Why'd he clean you up?"

"I've thought a lot about that," Ian said. He fidgeted nervously. "I know he uses his dealing to persuade certain customers to turn tricks. That's how most of the people in the brothel I worked at met him. He keeps them high for free, so they do what he wants. The only reason I can think of that he would get me clean is that he's telling me the truth. He actually loves me, or thinks he does. He got me hooked on drugs to turn me into his whore, but then when it came down to it he didn't want to share me, so he had me cleaned up. He was pissed off that I left, so he had to threaten me to keep me with him. Mickey, I can't tell the cops what he did or anything about his business or he'll kill my family."

"We'll figure something out, Ian. You tired? You want me to put the game on or something?"

"What I really want is to get back on my meds," Ian said.

Mickey nodded. "We'll make an appointment tomorrow. He not let you take them or something?"

"He said it wasn't right for an addict to be on medication. I told him it wasn't the kind of medication you get addicted to, but he didn't understand and he wouldn't let me explain it to him," Ian said.

"Sounds like he wanted to keep you vulnerable," Mickey said.

Ian had never really thought of it that way. Being without his meds _did_ make him vulnerable, though, and it made him sick that he'd let a guy like Phil into his life by making such stupid choices.

"Why don't you want to see your family?"

"It's the first place Phil will look. He doesn't know anything about you so he won't find me here," Ian said.

Mickey was silent for a long time, and then finally spoke up. "Why didn't you fight back? Jesus, Ian, you once head-butted my dad. You're fucking tough. And you know you could have come to Carl and me and my brothers and every other tough guy you know for help."

"Yeah, right, how's that conversation going to go? I need help beating up my bad boyfriend? You might be able to get away with being a tough as nails gay-guy in our neighborhood, but some mincing queen who needs to be rescued from her abusive boyfriend? No way. Not if I ever want to be able to show my face around there again," Ian said.

"Hey, don't knock mincing queens. They ain't so bad," Mickey joked.

Ian was briefly distracted by wondering _what the hell_ he meant by that, but then got back on point. "Back then Carl's friends were gang bangers. They wouldn't have helped me."

"Years ago you would have come up with some scam to _make_ them help you. Tell them where his safe is so they could jack it, have them steal his car, plant evidence on him and then call the cops…whatever. These days you just sit back and take this guy's shit?"

Ian slumped, knowing Mickey was right. Years ago, back when he'd been an invincible teenager, he'd have done a lot of things. But then life had happened. He'd left Mickey, and then his family, and any support system he'd ever had. He'd gotten into drugs and tricking to survive because he hadn't been able to hold down a regular job with his often erratic behavior. Ian had never really thought he was worth much, and when Phil told him that he was as good as it would ever get for him, he'd believed it.

And now it looked like his connection with Phil could get him thrown in jail. And not just thrown in jail. Thrown in jail by Mickey.

Stupid fucking life.


	3. Chapter 3

Mickey went into the office early the next day, leaving Ian sleeping on the couch. Mickey had always had a fondness for watching Ian sleep, so he made a point not to look too closely at him and pick up those bad habits again. Ian had said he planned on going to a nearby clinic and getting back on his bipolar medication that day, and so Mickey left him the spare key and one of his credit cards to pay for the pills.

Ian had told Mickey the day before that Jorez's name was on his bank account and credit cards, so the man could track him easily enough if he used his own money. He'd gotten the numbers and passwords from Ian, just in case Jorez had been using the accounts for fraud or money laundering, but from the looks of things, he didn't think he had been. Apparently Ian hadn't been lying about the popularity of his video blog. He did all right. Mickey had also taken Ian's phone and gotten some numbers and addresses from it.

Mickey was looking through the papers Jordan had rescued from the toilet. They were in some kind of code, but not one Mickey was familiar with. But Jorez was British, so maybe it was a European system.

He was walking over to ask Layton about British coding systems in the database when the question he was going to ask changed. "If you were a pimp, why would you leave Europe?" he asked.

Layton blinked owlishly for a minute, looking up at Mickey through his reading glasses in a way that made him look sixty instead of thirty. "I don't know. Isn't prostitution legal in most of Europe?"

"Fairly legal, yeah. Certainly more legit than here. So why come here only to open a brothel?"

"He probably didn't have his business model all picked out when he came here from England. Most people just sort of fall into a business like that, don't they?"

"You don't just 'fall into' a business syndicate like the one he's running with. They're big time. Connections to South American drug lords and Chinese Triad."

"Yeah, I was at the briefing, too, Mickey. What's your point?"

"My point is he somehow jumped to the top of the Chicago underground and he's not that much older than me. My guess is he gave them something using his English connections—territory, info, who knows. I think he must have some kind of past in England that he used to somehow get him where he is today. Probably pissed off those English gangsters, too."

"Mickey?"

Mickey looked up and saw that Jordan had been listening. "Yeah?" he asked.

She jerked her head towards her office and he followed her in. He took a seat in front of her shit-brown desk, wondering why he seemed to be getting in trouble right now. She looked at him thoughtfully for nearly a full minute, and then finally asked, "What does it matter what Phil Jorez did in England?"

"It might have some bearing on the case," Mickey said.

She nodded but appeared unconvinced. "Oh?"

Mickey slumped. "Okay, yeah. I thought if I could find out something about him to use against him I could get him away from Ian. Fucker threatened the guy's nieces and nephews."

Jordan tapped the table lightly with her scary-ass manicured nails. "Fine. Look into it. But you record anything you find about the overall organization of this outfit."

Mickey looked at his boss, considering. "You want me to use my contacts outside of the police force for this?"

"I know you said you didn't want to go after organized crime outside of human trafficking, Mickey, but you're the one pulling on this string. Besides, it's not like they're Russians, or anything, you probably won't have to get evidence on your brothers."

"My brothers are small-time, anyway. I'll see what I can dig up," Mickey said.

"How's the kid?"

"Ian? I don't think he knows anything about Jorez's business, and I don't know how useful he would be as a contact point to learn more. He's scared of the guy. He's been abused for years," Mickey said.

"You think Jorez conditioned him enough that he'll go back to him?"

"I hope not. We have to work fast, though. If Jorez threatens Ian's family again he might go right back. No chance of offering them protection, right?"

"The budget the way it is? Not unless he has information. Like, amazing information that would get more than just Jorez sent down. Jorez isn't even a citizen so the most we can probably expect from a conviction on him is that he gets deported. And even if Ian did talk, we'd probably only be able to protect him, not his brothers and sisters and their kids. Has Jorez tried to contact Ian?"

"He's called a few times but I have Ian's phone so they haven't spoken that I know of."

"Get anything useful off the phone?"

"Jorez calls from a lot of different phones. Some of them might be burners no one has associated with him yet. Maybe those numbers have been involved in criminal activity."

"Get those numbers to Miles and see if he can connect them to any ongoing investigations. And Mickey?"

"Yes, boss?"

"I know you care about this guy, but your priority is finding Jorez's connection to Boyanov," she said.

"Yeah," Mickey said. "Of course."

Mickey got around to asking about the British code and couldn't get any answers except for the fact that cockney rhyming slang had been invented so thugs in London's East End could discuss criminal activity without getting overheard by the cops. Interesting, but irrelevant.

He couldn't decipher the pages, so he photocopied one and took it home to ask Ian about it. He knew Ian didn't want to roll on the guy but giving him a few hints about his bookkeeping wasn't exactly snitching, now was it?

Mickey stopped on the way home to get groceries, but Ian was still out when he got there. For a second Mickey felt antsy at the thought that he'd let some tweaker have his credit card and run around with it unsupervised, but then he exhaled slowly and reminded himself that it was Ian, and Ian had always been hell on his heart, and his nerves, not his wallet.

Ian would never steal from him. It was just possible that he'd ditch the credit card and fuck off somewhere, never to be heard from again, though. Mickey shook his head and lit a cigarette, amazed that he hadn't thought to handcuff Ian to something—preferably himself—before he left for work that morning.

When Ian came back Mickey was sitting in front of the TV, not sure what he was even watching. He had had a few beers and his leg was jiggly with nerves. Ian looked him up and down and smiled slightly.

"You okay?"

Mickey scowled. "I'm not the one who had my life turned upside down. You okay?"

Ian smiled the same love-sick smiled he'd always shot Mickey's way. The one he found impossible to resist even now. "Yeah, but turning my life upside down kind of means that now it's finally right side up, you know?"

"Ian, Jorez has been calling your phone. You better check your messages," Mickey said.

Ian scowled. "I wish we could just forget about that guy."

Mickey went to the kitchen and started making dinner. He knew Ian would remember in a minute that Jorez might fuck up the Gallaghers if he didn't get in touch with him. He got dinner started and then went into the living room. Ian was sitting way too still on the sofa.

"What's wrong?" Mickey asked.

"I listened to the messages. At first he was all concerned and sweet, but now he's pissed. He got the rest of the people from the brothel out of jail and he knows that I should be there but am not. Thinks I'm talking to the cops. Why was I so fucking stupid! I should have known what he'd think if I didn't get arrested like the others. Last phone call he said if I didn't call him back by morning he was going to start by taking Liam out and then work his way down to my younger relatives," Ian said.

"I know this is no comfort, Ian, but he probably wouldn't follow through on a threat like that. It's too risky and it would bring too much heat down on him from cops and other gangsters. But either way, you can't just let this shit stand, Ian. You got to teach this freak what happens when you mess with a Gallagher," Mickey said.

Mickey wasn't sure why he was surprised when Ian's response was a hard-eyed, "How?"

"Call him back. Tell him you couldn't take his calls all night because you had to fuck some asshole you hate from high school to get clear of the charges. Shit, tell him you're my ex-boyfriend and you're using the shit out of me because you know how to work me."

"Mickey, I swear to god, if you tell me I have to go fuck him again to get you information on his organization, I'll—"

"Would I do that? Jesus. No, you tell him you're with him. Like completely. But the second you get your mouth off my dick I'll sending you to the big house so you can't be with him. At all. Now, unless this guy is a complete retard, he's going to want to see if he can use you to get information on the investigation."

"So you want me to feed him bad info?"

"Of course. We can work it to make it seem like some of the info is good. Let him hide some of the places he doesn't know we know about. No one really cares about the high-class brothels he's running like the one you lived in. We only shut it down to see if we could find out about worse things he's into. But Ian, this is really important. This won't work if you know stuff about his business. If you know stuff worth killing you over, he'll still do it."

"I don't know anything about his business except what I told you. The drugs and the prostitution. That's all I know. I don't even know if he works for anyone."

"Good," Mickey said. "You think you can handle lying to him about this?"

"I'm a gay kid from the ghetto. I'm like the best liar in the world. Couldn't have homophobic bullies like you learning my terrible secret," Ian joked.

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Dinner will be ready in half an hour. You want me to give you some privacy?"

"You want me to call him now?" Ian's eyes were so wide it was kind of scary.

"What I don't want is for you to wait until it's too late and you feel you have to go back to that piece of shit to protect your family. Want me to stay in the room?"

Ian nodded emphatically and Mickey felt a deep sense of relief. This scheme may be half-cocked and completely non-Jordan approved, but he thought it could work. The whole business rested on two major things, though. Ian had to trust Mickey to take Jorez out and protect Ian's family, and Mickey had to trust Ian not to go telling that stupid freak Jorez everything.

It's not that Mickey didn't trust Ian. He did. But he knew what it was like to be abused. He knew how it became second nature to obey the sick fuck you spent your spare time fantasizing about killing. He knew that there was even a kind of special joy that came from pleasing your abuser, because they were so hard to please in general it made making them smile feel like an amazing accomplishment that meant you were somehow worthwhile after all. He knew that probably when you were fucking your abuser shit got even more twisted. So he knew that tangling himself up in Ian's years-long abusive relationship was probably stupid.

But shit, it was _Ian_. What was he supposed to do, walk away? That kid had had his number from day one.

Come to that, Mickey had spent years involved in the Gallaghers' lives when he was with Ian. Since Ian had broken it off, he'd spent several Thanksgivings and Christmases with the rest of the Gallaghers. He'd been invited to birthday parties and he'd been called on to work various schemes and help them work their way out of trouble they got themselves into. He was actually the godfather of Debbie's freakin kid. The Gallaghers, the whole crazy, messed up family, were a part of him. They were his family as much as they were Ian's, and he wasn't going to let some fucking limey piece of shit hurt a hair on their greasy heads.

Maybe Ian couldn't find a way to cut himself loose from the shithead on his own, and maybe Mickey couldn't just go beat the fucker to death the way he wanted to, but when he and Ian worked together, there was nothing they couldn't do.

Fucker wouldn't know what hit him by the time they were through.


	4. Chapter 4

Ian watched as Mickey downloaded an app that would allow Ian to record the conversation on his iPhone.

He dialed the number he usually used to call Phil. He wasn't using the speaker phone but he had the volume up so high he was sure Mickey would be able to hear both sides of the conversation. Phil picked up after one ring.

"Ian? Where the fuck are you?" he asked.

"If you're going to talk to me like that I'm going to hang up," Ian said.

He could hear Phil take a deep breath. "Where the hell are you, Ian?" he asked, his tone slightly kinder.

"Your place—the place where you said I'd be safe—was busted. You said I wouldn't get arrested for prostitution because I wasn't actually doing it, but they just came in and shut the whole place down and arrested everyone whether they were hooking or not. You were fucking wrong and I'm pissed," Ian said.

"I didn't know that place was under investigation. If I'd thought for a minute you were in danger you know I wouldn't have set you up there," Phil said.

"I had my own apartment and my own life. You took me away from that but you promised me I was safe! I could have done real time if I'd been arrested. It could have been my forth strike. That means twenty-five years, Phil."

"My lawyer would have made sure—"

"Oh yeah, your lawyer would have come in and said, oh no judge, he was just my client's gay mistress. He has to live there so Phil Jorez's wife doesn't know he likes dick. Like you would have wanted that on the public record! I had to handle it myself and I don't want to take any of your shit for how I did," Ian said.

There was a long pause, and finally Phil said, "What did you do, Ian? I swear to god, if you talked to the police, you know what happens."

"I didn't talk to the police, alright? My old boyfriend from years ago was working with the cops, thank god. I don't know what he does for them—like I fucking care. Goddamned traitor. Calls himself a fucking South-sider and he works for the cops? Anyway, he never got over me after I dumped him, and he told me if I moved in with him and kept him happy he'd make the charges go away."

"Did he?"

"His boss told me if I didn't stay in contact with them she'd arrest me. All Mickey has to do is tell her that I'm gone or I talked to you and they slap me with a warrant," Ian said. It helped that she'd said that right in front of the others so he would have heard about her saying that.

"And what's this Mickey guy like?"

"He was my first serious boyfriend. It's kind of pathetic, actually. I just have to smile at the guy and he does whatever I want. He'd do anything for me," Ian said.

"Sound like you like him," Phil said. His voice sounded dangerously close to jealous.

Mickey grabbed Ian's hand and Ian tried to let some of what he felt for Mickey seep into his voice when he talked to Phil. "He's not you, baby. You know I like my men tough," Ian said huskily.

"So come back to me and show me," Phil said.

"Where? You going to take me home to your wife? Make me live in another one of your brothels? You can't protect me right now. Mickey can. Unless you can take some evidence to the cops that proves I was just living there as a tenant, not an employee," Ian said, making his voice sound hopeful.

"Ian, you know I can't do that. Jessica and the kids are important to me. They're important to my image. You and I both know that a guy can be tough as shit and still be gay but the people I associate with don't think that. You know I'd rather take you out to fancy restaurants with my friends. You're hotter and classier than her. She's actually fucking embarrassing most of the time."

"Look, Mickey should be home any second. He can't know I'm talking to you. The cops don't believe I'm your boyfriend—they all think you're straight."

"Okay, Ian. You play the part of the repentant boyfriend, but don't forget who you really belong to. You're mine, and as soon as your cop gets sick of you, you're coming back to me. I don't want to have to pay a visit to your sisters."

"I know," Ian said.

"And we have to meet," Phil said.

"Meet?" Ian said. "Mickey watches me all the time! He's getting his sister to come make sure I'm okay. He says it's because he worries about me being alone because of the bipolar. I think he's worried I'm going to pawn his TV or something."

"He wouldn't be upset if you went out for a run, though, right? We don't have to hook up. I can survive without your dick for a few weeks. I just need to talk to you in person, okay? We'll meet in the park or something."

Mickey nodded his head. Ian suspected he thought that Phil would ask him to get information from the cops through Mickey at that meeting. "Yeah, okay. I'll text you when I can get away, okay?"

"Sounds good. I love you, Ian. You know I love you, don't you?"

"Yeah. Of course. I love you, too, Phil," Ian said.

Ian hung up and handed the phone over to Mickey, who stopped the recording and emailed it to himself. "That was fucking masterful, Gallagher. You're a fucking genius."

"How so?" Ian asked.

"You proved so many things in that conversation. You proved that he takes his wife, not you, out to meet his associates. Might be a good thing to play my boss to get her off your ass. I can see the wheels turning in her head…she's waiting to see if you'd work as a CI," Mickey said.

"You don't want that?"

"I don't want you in that kind of danger," Mickey said. "And I'm almost certain you wouldn't be able to work as a CI without getting back in bed with him. I promised you you wouldn't have to do that and I meant it."

"Which one's your boss? That tall black lady?"

"Yeah, her name's Jordan Marks and she's awesome," Mickey said. "But she's awesome because she's tough as nails, and I want you off her radar."

"I don't need your protection," Ian said.

"Oh, so you _want_ to make a deal with the cops—twenty-five years in jail or wearing a wire to get your boyfriend to talk about his criminal activities, which he never usually discusses with you? You want to go back to living where that stupid fuck wants you to live and risk him finding out you're working with the cops? You want him doing whatever the fuck he does to people who betray him to you?"

"You know I don't," Ian said. He scowled at Mickey. "So that's why you taped it?"

"That's why I taped it, yeah, but considering what you two said to each other, I got a whole new plan in mind," Mickey said, grinning.

Ian felt heat coil in the pit of his belly at that grin. He'd never been able to resist that hot-ass shit-eating Mickey grin. "What are you thinking now?"

"I'm thinking I go to work tomorrow with two options to give to Jordan. Option one, we pull the wife in and play her that recording, and then get her to turn and give us information on Jorez. Seems she knows more about his business, and if she wants to stay in the States, we can use that because she's British, too. Option two, we play it for Jorez and get him to turn on his bosses and work for us or we play it for his wife and associates."

"He'd know I was involved! You promised me he wouldn't go after me," Ian protested.

"I'm already playing the sleaze-ball here. I'd say I didn't trust you so was using some spy app to listen to and record your conversations. It's completely possible, these days," Mickey said.

Ian tried to dial back his anxiety. "Or you could play the tape for his associates. Get them to turn on him for being gay," Ian said.

"That feels a bit evil, but I could get behind it," Mickey said. "It's not like he's a good guy or anything. Ian you were so amazing. You played it so perfectly. Like I never would have thought of actually acting pissed at him but he probably wouldn't have believed at word he said if you weren't."

Ian rolled his eyes, actually feeling bad despite knowing he was being an idiot. "He loves me, Mickey, and he's walking into this trap _because_ he loves me. This feels really shitty."

Mickey looked livid for a minute, but he said nothing and went into the kitchen. He started setting the table in the dining alcove and then got the pre-made lasagna out of the oven and put it on the table. He mixed together a Caesar salad kit and sat down.

Ian sat down at the other place at the table and started to eat. He almost jumped when Mickey spoke, although his voice was unusually gentle. "Your boy is probably fucking up all over town. If you don't want me to use this conversation, I won't," he said. "We'll get him another way."

Ian looked at Mickey, remembering all the conversations they used to have about how guys were taking advantage of Ian, about how Mickey always thought people wanted him for his looks and nothing else. He remembered how mad it had always made Mickey when people called Ian a twink, like he was just some _thing_ , not a person at all. He'd scoffed at Mickey for that at the time, but it made his heart ache to think about it now. Mickey had always respected him, loved him, for _him_. For who he was inside. They'd been best friends, and Ian hadn't realized it until that moment, ten years later, sitting down to dinner at Mickey's tiny table.

And he realized that Mickey would get Jorez on his own, or with the cops, and Ian would be free. And Ian didn't love Jorez at all. He hated him. Hated him. He'd been trying to get away from that sick fuck for years. And now Mickey was offering him a way not just to get rid of Jorez, but to actually help take him down.

"I want in on this," Ian said. "I want to use his feelings for me against him."

"You sure? His feelings for you might be the only good thing about him," Mickey said.

"If that were true, he'd treat me like I mattered. Like you used to treat me when we were together," Ian said. "He says he loves me, but I know what the real thing feels like. He threatened me, he threatened my family, and he treats his whores like sex-slaves, not employees. He deserves to go down, and I more than anything I want to be part of the reason he goes down."

"Thank fuck," Mickey said. "I thought for a minute you'd gone soft on me."

"Speaking of going soft, how the hell did you start working for the cops?" Ian asked.

"Can't we just eat?" Mickey asked.

"Please?" Ian asked. "I've told you every humiliating thing that's happened to me in the past ten years. Can't you just show me we're in this together? That we're still friends? Tell me how you got here?"

Mickey sighed and put down his fork. "I got a visit from Svetlana like three, four years ago. She was frantic. She'd heard from the old country or whatever that her father had gotten drunk and sold her youngest sister to the same people he'd sold her to."

"Youngest? How old was she?"

"Like two years older than Yev. Svetlana had never even met her. She was ten, at the time," Mickey said. He paused. "Svetlana wanted me to use my contacts, well, my father's contacts, and find her sister and buy her from whoever had her. I agreed to do it. It's different when it's a kid. I mean, I know it's useless to put these guys away because more guys will just come around and do the same thing. Fighting crime is like bailing out a sinking boat with a tea cup. You can never keep up."

"You don't have to justify being against children being sold as sex-slaves. Jesus, Mickey. What the hell happened? Did you find her?"

"I did. And I bought her. From a guy who was under surveillance," Mickey said.

"Holy shit. And the cops thought you wanted her for like—"

"Yeah. Guy with my family history? They thought I wanted to be her boyfriend or some sick shit. A little fucking kid. Anyway, Svetlana comes in, trying to claim the little girl as her sister so she don't get put in foster care or worse, get sent back to the people I bought her from. Her explanation for what happened was high-larious. She chewed those cops out good, said her useless, drunken, welfare-bum gay ex-husband was the only one who cared what happened to her sweet little sister when the cops didn't give a shit. Honestly, I think I want what she said that day to be my eulogy."

"And they believed her?"

"Eventually, after they looked into it and got DNA tests and everything. And Jordan asked me to help take those fuckers down. Said I'd gotten closer than they ever had and wanted to know how I'd done it. I started as an informant and then eventually they had to make me a consultant because I'd worked too many hours or something."

Ian considered Mickey's story, and then he froze as he thought of something. "I know Jorez uses drugs to get people to do things they wouldn't normally do, but he's not into anything like _that_ , is he? Human trafficking? Slavery stuff?"

Mickey looked apologetic. "He is. We're not sure if he's involved directly or just working with people who are into it. That's what we're investigating him to find out."

Ian shuddered, thinking he couldn't believe he'd let a guy like that put his hands on him. "I'll help you take him down. Whatever it takes. I'm in this until the end."


	5. Chapter 5

Mickey set the phone down on the table and let the recording play out. When it was done, Jordan looked at him, her lips quirking slightly. "Does he really just have to smile at you and you'll do whatever he wants?" she asked.

"Definitely. But thankfully I'm pretty sure he doesn't realize it," Mickey said.

"You don't think he could be playing you?"

"Not in a million years. Especially after I told him about the human-trafficking stuff Jorez might be involved in."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"How is that your business?"

"Do I really have to spell out how it's my business?"

Mickey sighed. "Look, I can't exactly come on to him. He's mentally ill but has been unable to get treatment for it until just now and he has been involved in this abusive relationship for years. And before that he was a sex worker. That's gotta fuck with your head. I'm not going to try to get it on with him, especially since at the moment he might confuse gratitude and nostalgia for something more. Anyway I think he's too messed up right now to even want me like that. And he dumped me, so maybe he never _will_ want me like that. And the last thing I want is for him to think he has to put out or I'll leave him to deal with Jorez on his own."

Jordan leaned back. "You know, maybe you're a better guy than I gave you credit for being, Mickey."

"If I am it's because when I was a mixed up, idiotic, half-feral, closeted kid he loved me," Mickey said. "I wouldn't even know how to love someone else or be a good person if it wasn't for him."

Jordan smiled. "Maybe I should get to know this paragon," she said.

"Yeah? How's that going to work? He can't exactly come to the station," Mickey said.

"You could invite me to dinner," she said.

"Are you being serious right now? You want me to invite you into my house?"

"Jesus Mickey, you're acting like I'm a vampire or something. I'm not going to eat him. I could actually drop by with or without an invitation, you know. Or maybe you've got something to hide. Is there something you don't want me to see at your condo? A shrine to Lady Gaga? A closet full of evening gowns?"

"Yeah, my fucking personal life is what I don't want you to see. I agreed to work with the cops because the people you're trying to put away are monsters. I did not agree to be friends with a fucking cop," Mickey said.

"You're an idiot sometimes, Mick. We _are_ friends. You tell anyone else you're in love with this guy? You call someone and gush about how his smile makes you melt and he's the love of your life?"

Mickey's jaw dropped. "Of course I didn't," he said.

"Well, that's pretty much what you told me. Face it, Mickey. Your best friend in the world right now is a fucking cop. And not just a cop. A black, chick cop," she grinned. "Terry must be rolling over in his grave."

Mickey couldn't help but grin back. "I almost wish my father could be alive to see this. It's like his worst nightmare come true. He thought me being gay was bad. I'm so fucking proud of myself at this moment."

"You're welcome for the breakthrough. Now when do you want me to come over? I can't rely on your judgment alone on this operation. I'm willing to let you two do your thing to a certain extent, Mick, but I gotta know this guy's solid," she said.

"Fine, how does tonight work for you?" he asked.

"Oh, you know my busy social calendar," she said. "I'll have to see if I'm available."

Mickey snorted. "Oh I know your social calendar. It's fucking non-existent. How about seven?"

"Six-thirty. I don't want your boy to have time to get nervous," she said.

Mickey called Ian the second he left the office. "Hey, you sound out of breath. You working out?"

"No, I'm rolling around on your bed jacking off to your manly scent," Ian said dryly.

"Behave, Gallagher. I have access to black-lights these days," Mickey said.

Ian laughed, sounding remarkably like his old self. "What do you need?"

"Jordan's coming over for dinner. Six-thirty. She wants to talk to you about all this Jorez shit off the record. You in?"

"I don't know if I can do that, Mickey. Can't you let me get my bearings a little before I have to host a fucking dinner party?"

"You don't have to host a dinner party. I'll defrost something or we'll get takeout. I'm going to be home at like four anyway—and shit, it's just Jordan. She's a friend of mine, okay? She just wants to make sure you're solid," Mickey said.

"But I'm not solid, Mick. I'm made of fucking Jell-O right now I'm so far from solid. I've had my life turned upside down like you said and my meds haven't had time to kick in. I might freak out or—Jesus, I could have a fucking psychotic episode. You've seen me like this, Mick. You can't expect me to be all cool under this kind of pressure."

"Ian, she knows you've been through hell. Being traumatized is fine. Shit, she's a cop who investigates child sex-slaves. She's traumatized like every other fucking day. She gets it. She wants to see you and get to know you a little to make sure you're not playing me. I have faith in you, Ian. If you say you're with me I know you're with me a hundred and ten percent. I don't have to ask. But she doesn't know you like I know you. You just have to show her that you're with me on this. Nothing else," Mickey said.

"Fine," Ian said. "But I'm doing this under protest. If I didn't need the two of you to get Jorez I'd be out of here."

"Come on, Ian, don't—" he heard the phone disconnect. He looked up to find Layton watching him.

"Tough break, friend. Maybe you shouldn't hook up with people you meet in brothels, yo?" Layton said.

"Maybe you should mind your fucking business," Mickey said. Layton raised his hands, all innocence, and Mickey scowled and walked away.

Mickey ended up buying a casserole and a salad from a deli that made things ready to go in the oven. He put everything in the fridge and went to see if Ian was around. He found him upstairs doing pull-ups on a pull-up bar he'd forgotten he had.

With his shirt off.

"You been going through my stuff?" Mickey asked.

"You never cared before," Ian said.

Mickey leaned on the wall, watching the way Ian's muscles rippled as he moved. He wasn't ripped like he had been, but he was lanky-strong and sweating profusely. "You been working out all day? You'll hurt yourself."

"I was doing some sit-ups when you called. I got so fucking nervous after you told me Jordan was coming over I had to go for longest run in the world. Then when I got home I wanted to do pull-ups so I went through every closet in the house looking for a pull-up bar. Hope that's okay," Ian said.

"Looking for the pull-up bar is okay. Working yourself to death over this visit is not. Come on. She's coming more as a friend then as my boss," Mickey said.

"You think that makes it better?"

"I guess not," Mickey said. He looked at Ian. When he'd been this nervous and jittery before, Mickey would have offered him a blowjob to take the edge off, but he didn't want to push Ian into something he wasn't ready for. Like Ian himself had said, he was as solid as Jell-O these days.

Mickey finally decided to do something he'd been wanting to do since he first saw Ian in that brothel. He grabbed him and hugged him, hard. He wasn't sure if Ian would even let him, but Ian held him back, just as tight, nosing into his neck and breathing him in. The hug reminded Mickey of things he didn't need reminding of; he'd never forgotten how being near Ian seemed to sooth him, but somehow he'd forgotten just how perfectly they fit when they slotted themselves together like that. It wasn't fair that after all this time Ian still felt like safety and home.

When they finally let each other go, they both seemed to realize they'd held on too long. They disengaged awkwardly, but Ian was smiling now. He'd always been better at 'feelings' bullshit than Mickey.

"You want the shower first?" Ian asked.

"I think you need it, sweaty," Mickey said. Or Mickey needed him to wash off the weirdly sexy smell of stale sweat that reminded him so much of their teenaged years so he didn't forget himself and just kiss him, anyway.

Ian nodded and went in the master bath. There was another bathroom downstairs but it didn't have a shower. This had never been a problem before, even when he'd had people stay with him, but he'd never thought about them showering as tempting and taunting him.

He went downstairs, read the instructions on the meal he'd bought and made a mental note of when it had to go in the oven.

It was only about four-thirty when he heard a knock on the door, and he was fully prepared to give Jordan hell for being a full two hours early when he opened the door and saw it was his friend Andy.

"This is not a good time, Andy. I got a lot on my plate tonight. Sorry," Mickey said.

"I went by your office and they said you'd left early. Thought we could fit in some afternoon delight," Andy said.

"Gross," Mickey muttered. Andy was hot as shit and Mickey liked the arrangement they had, but he'd always thought 'afternoon delight' was a disgusting way to talk about banging, for some reason. "You can come in for a minute, but that's it. I got a friend staying with me and Jordan's coming over for dinner later."

Andy walked in, looking around. "I heard about this. You have some whore from an investigation staying with you? Should I be jealous?"

Mickey scowled. They were friends with benefits, nothing more. And they hadn't even enjoyed the 'benefits' for some time because Andy now had a boyfriend. Or he'd had a boyfriend, anyway. "Why the fuck would you be jealous? And don't call Ian a whore. He's mixed up in something shitty and he's trying to get himself out of it. That don't mean you should look down on him."

"I'm not looking down on him. I just repeated what Layton said."

"Layton's such a dick. You'd think with the job he does he'd be a bit more sensitive," Mickey said.

Andy laughed. "You're complaining about someone else being insensitive? Mickey, that's without question the funniest thing you've ever said to me."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you can go now," he said.

"When can we get together?" Andy said.

Mickey didn't ask about Andy's boyfriend. If Andy had still been with him, he wouldn't want to be with Mickey. He shrugged. "I wouldn't hold my breath if I was you."

"Okay, fine. I guess I'll just have go cruise for ass. I know I won't find one as hot as yours," Andy said.

Mickey gave Andy a look of distaste. "Well, get used to fucking disappointment, then."

Ian chose that moment to walk down the stairs wearing nothing but tight jeans and the tattoos on his alabaster skin. He stopped halfway down and looked over at Mickey. "Sorry, thought Jordan was here. I'll give you a minute," he said.

"You must be Ian," Andy said. He held his hand up to shake.

Ian finished descending the stairs and moved over to him and shook his hand briefly.

"This is my friend Andy," Mickey said. "He was just leaving."

"Right," Andy said. "Nice to meet you, Ian." He smiled winningly at both of them and left.

"You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend," Ian said.

"He's not my boyfriend," Mickey said.

"Is he the reason you don't think mincing queens are so bad?"

"He's works in fucking S.W.A.T., Ian. He's hardly a mincing queen," Mickey said dryly.

"Why isn't he your boyfriend? You've obviously fucked."

"Friend with benefits. Lately we've just been friends because he was involved with someone else."

"But now he's free again."

"I guess," Mickey said.

Ian shrugged like it didn't matter to him and went back up the stairs, hopefully to find a shirt.

Mickey wasn't certain he could keep his hands to himself if Ian walked around half-naked all the time.


	6. Chapter 6

"No, this is good. This is amazing. Mickey has some hot-ass fucking SWAT team friend waiting in the wings to be his boyfriend when I leave, so there's no way Mickey would want a fuck-up like me. Which sucks, but makes sense. And it totally take the pressure off. I can just be cool. I wouldn't ever choose Phil over Mickey and I'll just tell his boss that. I wouldn't ever hurt Mickey again. And it doesn't matter if Jordan likes me as a person because I'm just an old friend to Mickey. Nothing more," Ian said.

Ian wasn't jealous. He couldn't be jealous, when he was the one who'd broken up with Mickey. When his _actual_ boyfriend was the one whose feelings they were exploiting to get him thrown in jail. It wouldn't make any sense to be jealous. Ian had hardly been celibate, and he could have probably gotten Mickey back anytime for years and he chose not to.

But obviously whatever connection he'd thought he felt when Mickey had hugged him earlier had just been in his head. Maybe he really was in a psychotic episode, thinking he was seventeen again and had a chance with this version Mickey who had his head on straight.

"Mickey's just being a good guy. You always knew he had it in him to be a good guy, and here he is, taking in a used up old whore he used to know. You were crazy to think it meant anything else," Ian whispered to his reflection.

Ian squared his shoulders. At least he had Mickey's friendship, which was more than he'd had a couple of days ago.

Mickey put the food in the oven and tossed the salad, with Ian standing nearby not knowing what to say.

When Mickey jumped in the shower, Ian, feeling like an asshole, grabbed Mickey's phone and read through the texts between Mickey and 'Hawt SWAT'. Although Ian was certain that Andy had changed his name to that on Mickey's phone, the texts weren't exactly comforting. Andy was obviously in love with Mickey, and had demanded more from Mickey, and Mickey had dialed them back to friends-with-benefits. Andy dated other guys but he always came back to Mickey.

He really was waiting in the wings.

When Mickey got out of the shower he glanced at Ian, who was still looking through his phone. "What are you doing?"

"Looking through your phone. It's only fair. You looked through mine," Ian said.

Mickey shrugged. "Since the day you made me come out I've had nothing to hide from anyone, Ian, especially not from you. I don't mind you looking through my phone. Just some conversations might be out of context. If you're wondering about my life, it's probably better just to ask me about it."

"Andy's in love with you," Ian said.

"He used to be. As much as I tried to I didn't feel the same way about him. He's over it," Mickey said. He paused for a moment and then said, "He really is, Ian."

Ian shrugged. "It's none of my business," Ian said.

"Well, do you want it to be your business?" Mickey asked.

The silence between them stretched. Ian knew he didn't have any right to be with Mickey, but maybe he'd been wrong before. Maybe Mickey really did want him. He had always wanted Ian before, even when Ian had just been a goofball kid. He opened his mouth to say yeah, he did want it to be his business when the doorbell rang.

Mickey looked down at himself. He was just wearing a towel and was still dripping wet. "Mind getting the door?"

"Course," Ian said.

"I'll just be a minute," Mickey promised.

Ian opened the door and stepped back to let Jordan inside. She was taller than Ian, though she was wearing high-heels so was probably actually around the same height, and looked extremely stylish. Her hair was stylishly quaffed and she was wearing a cocktail dress. Her skin was perfect, and very dark, and her features strong but still attractive.

Ian held a hand up in a half-wave. "I'm Ian," he said.

"Jordan Marks," she said.

There was a pause long enough for Ian to wonder what the hell Mickey was doing upstairs. Finally he said, "Mickey told me what you do for a living. It must be hard," Ian said.

"He's told me a little bit about you. Honestly, Ian, I don't know what to make of you."

"What do you mean?"

"I've dealt with CIs and survivors of trauma. I even used to work at a shelter for domestic abuse before I was a cop. If you told Mickey the truth before, when you said this guy's been controlling you and threatening your family, why now? Why not go to Mickey or your family or a shelter before? Go to the police? It just doesn't make any sense to me that you were living there, seemingly happy with your choices, and Mickey shows up, and suddenly everything that was in your life before that bust means nothing to you. Are you playing Mickey?"

"Did Mickey ever tell you how he came out?" Ian asked.

"I don't appreciate you being evasive, Ian. I asked a direct question, and I expect—"

"But did he ever tell you?"

She shook her head.

"We'd just gotten back together from a catastrophic breakup. I'd pretty much had a mental breakdown and no one but me knew how fucked up I was. Mickey had an idea, but he's never been one to judge people for that shit, you know? So his wife had arranged for Yevgeny to have this big Christening, and then there was a party at the local bar after. Mickey didn't want me either place, because his father was getting out of jail that day."

Jordan raised her eyebrow.

Ian nodded. "Terry knew we'd been together before and he'd pretty much told Mickey that he had to make his marriage to Svetlana work or he'd kill him. So I went to the Christening, and I went to the pub, and the whole day I was hassling Mickey to come out. I was a kid, you know? Barely seventeen and stupid and fucking crazy to boot, and I didn't think of what that could mean. I just thought of what I wanted. So when Terry finally showed up, I told Mickey to come out or I'd break up with him. And he did. He announced it to the whole place. Terry and his cronies tried to kill us, we fought back, and Terry ended up back in jail for breaking his probation."

"It's a good story, Ian. I'm actually glad to know it. But I'm not sure why you're telling me this," Jordan said.

"Because Mickey trusted me so much he'd take on Terry Milkovich, at a time when Terry was pretty much the boogie man to him, to stay in my life. And as for leaving my current life behind? My life is shit. The only thing good about it is my video blog and my shoulder definition. You think I wouldn't take on Phil Jorez or whoever else to keep Mickey around, even if all we ever are to each other is friends?"

"He loves you," Jordan said softly. "He would still love you even if you sat back and let us do the heavy lifting on the Jorez case."

"Yeah, but if I sat in Mickey's surprisingly cozy apartment while someone else took Phil down, I might never feel like myself again. I wasn't always a fucking damsel in distress, you know. There was a time when people looked at Mickey and me and wondered why a good kid like me with a bright future was hanging out with a dirty, thieving, psychpathic weirdo."

Mickey came down the stairs with zero grace and shot Ian a dirty look. "Nothing but compliments out of you, ay Gallagher? Next time I'll fucking let you rot in prison. Jordan. Look at you. You going to your junior prom later or something?"

"Hot date later, Mick. Cocktails," she said.

"Hey, we can all appreciate nights that end with some cock," Mickey joked.

Ian was once again shocked to hear Mickey talk about being gay like it was no big deal. Ian supposed Mickey had been out for over ten years now, and it made sense for him to be totally over all his weird insecurities about belonging to some kind of gay culture. It should have made Ian happy or even proud, but he found that, strangely, he resented it. He'd always been able to show Mickey things about gay culture—help him accept himself _through_ gay culture. What the hell did Mickey need from Ian now?

Ian had never been good at being the one who needed help in any situation, but seeing Mickey so normal and well-adjusted just seemed…wrong. It reminded him of when he'd freaked out on Mickey for taking such good care of him when he'd first tried his bipolar medication. He'd told Mickey at the time that he couldn't stand what a soft faggot he'd turned into, and maybe he'd actually believed that at the time, but over the years he'd grown to accept the fact that he'd been uncomfortable with the power dynamic. He didn't like Mickey taking care of him. He liked taking care of Mickey. Now he could say that was selfish, stupid and immature. Now he could say that in a real relationship the caretaker position changed and shifted depending on the situation—they should always have each other's backs and it shouldn't matter who helped who on what day. Mickey had tried to tell him that back then, but he'd been too immature and lost in his own head to listen.

He'd been pretty mixed up, and he knew he'd hurt Mickey a lot. He liked seeing Mickey with Jordan. He even sort of liked seeing Mickey with Andy. Mickey had a kind of easy confidence around him now that fit him more than the pit bull-posturing he'd always worn like a mask before. He looked so good, too. He was probably thirty, if Ian's math was correct, and he was still in as good shape as he'd been when they were kids. He wore tight tailored button-up shirts tucked into nice, tight-ass jeans, mostly, and it looked hot.

And he smiled so much now.

Ian glanced at Jordan and realized she'd caught him staring at Mickey. He hoped he hadn't had puppy-dog heart-shaped eyes on, as Debbie would have said back when she was a teenager, but judging by the way Jordan's expression softened, he was pretty sure he was wearing his emotions all over his face. He always had when it came to Mickey.

Mickey had always been Ian's one weakness. He smiled slightly. Well, that and the drugs, and the sex with strangers, and the mental disorder, and a certain love of luxury. Okay, Ian had a lot of weaknesses. He was probably even forgetting some of his weaknesses. Mickey was the only one of his weaknesses that might actually also be a kind of strength, though. He could never tell Mickey no, but he'd never regretted telling Mickey yes, either.

Ian turned his attention to the conversation. To his surprise, they didn't spend a lot of time talking about Jorez. Mickey and Jordan had decided that the best way to go about using the recording he and Ian had made would be to play it for Mrs. Jorez and see if they could get her help.

Ian shrugged and agreed. He didn't mind ruining Phil's life—he had absolutely no desire to take the woman's place in Phil's house or anything—but he hated to hurt the woman. And there were two kids, too.

At the end of the night Jordan turned to Ian and took his hand. "You think you can string Jorez along enough to give him bad information? I'm not even sure it will help the investigation in any way, but Mickey's right. It might made him think you're still loyal even though you won't go back with him."

"I can do whatever I need to," Ian said. "I got myself into this, and I am determined to help get myself out."

Jordan nodded.

Ian guessed that whatever test he'd been given, he'd passed.


	7. Chapter 7

Mickey closed the door, happy that somehow Ian had managed to calm his tits and show Jordan how amazing he actually was. He'd been practically acting like a tweaker earlier, so whatever he'd done to calm down, Mickey was thankful for it.

They were both beat, too tired to watch TV or anything before sleeping, but they cleaned up before bed. Well, Mickey would have left it for a day or even a couple of days but Ian had tried to do it all himself and that had made Mickey guilty enough to help. When they were finished they sat down at the kitchen table to have a smoke, and Ian glared at the sofa.

"Mickey, can I just sleep in your bed with you tonight? I'm too tall for that thing," he said. Ian raised his hands in innocence. "I swear I won't get fresh, Miss. It's just you have such a big bed and it's not like we haven't seen, you know, everything there is to see of each other before."

"If this is because of Andy, I swear there's nothing there. You don't have to move into my bed to make some kind of claim on me," Mickey said.

Ian blushed and shifted on his chair, looking guilty enough that Mickey thought Andy had been a factor and Ian didn't exactly want to admit it. Mickey had always been too blunt for his own good. "But I want to be with you again," Ian whispered. "I wanted you back even before I knew that guy existed."

"You sure? You've been through a lot lately. I don't want to hurt you," Mickey said.

Ian shrugged. "Do you want me?"

Mickey laughed, the sound harsh and tinny in his ears. "Ian, I've _always_ wanted you. Having you back is like a dream come true. You think I haven't imagined this a thousand times? But you're different than I thought you'd be. You're vulnerable. I don't want to be one of the guys who takes advantage of you. I've never been one of those guys, have I?"

Ian shook his head, and then took a deep breath. Mickey noticed Ian's hands were shaking and he resisted the urge to cover them with his own. "You know, you've really grown up. I don't feel like I've changed at all. Not in any good ways, anyway."

"I want you back, too, Ian. I want to be together like we used to be. From the moment you got here I've been trying to keep myself from emptying half my drawers so you can move your stuff in and maybe tying you to something heavy so you can't get away. But if it turns out you sleep with me before you're ready—I mean, talk about rebound. You ain't even broken up with that other guy yet, technically. If it turns out you were wrong about wanting me and we'd been sleeping together and living together and basically all my gay fucking dreams had been coming true, I'd be goddamned devastated."

Ian looked at Mickey in disbelief. "You talk about your feelings now?"

"It's self-preservation. I know exactly how much losing you hurts, Ian. If we get together again, I want it to be for the long-haul, you know?"

"I'm sorry that I hurt you," Ian said.

"I know you are, Gallagher. I never thought you hurt me deliberately, and to be totally fair, when we were first hanging out, I deliberately hurt you all the time. I'm not trying to punish you by saying no to you right now, Ian. I know it might seem like that—"

"—no. I mean, I think I did just want to lose myself in that old familiar feeling, you know? Go back in time to when our biggest problem was your homophobic family finding out about us, and forget about Phil and everything that goes with that for a while. But that's not fair to you. And it's probably not healthy for me. I've been practically held hostage in this relationship for so long and I don't even know who I am without him. I don't know if I can be who you need me to be when I've totally lost myself, you know?"

Mickey nodded, suddenly finding it tricky to swallow over the lump in his throat. He'd done the noble thing, but he wasn't happy about it. Unfortunately, by doing the noble thing he'd pretty much told Ian he was still in love with him, which was pretty pathetic considering Ian had dumped him ten years ago. It would have been nice for Ian to say something about how attracted to Mickey he still was or how much he still loved him, too, but no, he just wanted to go back to a simpler time.

Well, shit.

"If the sofa is really too small for you I can take it. I sleep there pretty often if I fall asleep watching TV," Mickey said. Because he hadn't said enough things to make himself sound like a lonely-ass loser tonight.

"No, I was just trying to get in your pants," Ian smirked.

"I would say we could just sleep together, but—"

"—yeah, no. That wouldn't happen," Ian said. "If I was in the same bed with you, you'd come so hard you'd see stars. Multiple times."

"Yeah, thanks for that Ian. Sleep tight asshole," Mickey said irritably, wondering if he should have another shower to jerk off.

The next morning when Mickey got up Ian was apparently out for a run, and Mickey left as fast as he could. He didn't want to avoid Ian, but having been such a girl as to refuse sex because he worried Ian was going to hurt his feelings the day before, he was happy for the reprieve.

Mickey had dealt with a lot of his issues over the years, and had stopped playing the unfeeling robot even before Ian left. Didn't stop him from hearing his father's voice in his head calling him a fag whenever he was particularly vulnerable, though.

By the time he'd gotten into the office, he'd gotten over his embarrassment. One of the reasons he'd managed to survive his terrible childhood and mostly terrible adolescence, and losing a once-in-a-lifetime love like Ian Gallagher, was that he wasn't broody or introspective. Blathering out his feelings helped him get rid of them. When he'd been younger, he'd beat the shit out of people for the same effect, but admitting to his feelings now and again was probably less destructive. Landed him in jail less, anyway. And, at least at the moment, he had a job to do.

"Our eyes on Jessica Lorez say she goes for coffee at the Starbucks by her house most mornings around ten. You're going to already be there, and there's not going to be any seat in the house but one by you."

"Hello to you, too, sweetheart. How were drinks with your mystery date?"

Jordan grimaced. "I was just too embarrassed to admit I dressed up that nice just to go to your place for dinner. You know how rare it is for me to go somewhere I have to dress up? When I said my social life was non-existent I was actually talking it up a little."

"I gotta say, that weirds me out a little, because you're sexy as fuck," Mickey said.

"Are we allowed to say stuff like that to you?" Layton asked.

Jordan smiled. "Mickey is. Come into my office, Mickey. I want to make sure you're wired up."

"Oh, now she thinks you've switched teams and she's just trying to get your shirt off, Mickey."

When the door was shut behind him, Mickey turned to Jordan. "Do I really gotta wear a wire? That shit's uncomfortable, and this whole thing feels a bit too unofficial to warrant me recording the conversation, you know?"

Mickey was shocked when Jordan gripped Mickey's arms with school-girl-like glee. "I love Ian! I get what you mean. The way he looks at you, the way you look at him…you're like star-crossed lovers. And why the hell didn't you tell me that you came out to a room full of gay-haters at your son's Christening and got in a huge fight with your dad? That's such a great story!"

Mickey shook her off. "I'll tell you what I told Ian. I'm not going to get excited about this until I'm sure it's really going to happen. He might just feel insecure and I'm like, someone he feels safe and familiar with. And I mean, what if for some reason we can't find shit on Lorez? Ian would still leave me to go back to him to protect his family. He would. That would fucking kill me."

"That would kill _me_ ," Jordan said. "He's a sweet kid. And I looked up his YouTube channel last night and he's really talented, too."

"Oh yeah. I haven't even asked him about that. What's it about, anyway?"

"I won't spoil it. You should let him tell you about it. He's only told you all the shitty stuff that's happened to you in the past ten years. You should show him you support the stuff he's been really successful at. I think he feels like nothing. He told me the blog was the only thing he had going for him in his life right now."

"Kind of a dick move on my part not to even ask about it, ay?" Mickey asked.

"Get to Starbucks," Jordan said. "I'll make sure she's herded in your direction."

Mickey was playing a game on his phone when he got the text from Jordan. _Pretty girl, long black hair_ , it said. Mickey saw the girl at the till. She was married, so he had bought an _Out_ magazine and starting reading, holding it in such a way that she could see the cover. It was busy in the café, whether because Jordan had somehow orchestrated it or for some other reason, and he didn't want her to think he was going to hit on her if she asked to sit with him.

As she was looking around, Mickey glanced up and gave her his most charming smile. He was well aware, these days, that his smile was a pretty powerful thing. She smiled back immediately, glanced at his magazine, and then tilted her head. "Do you mind terribly if I sit with you?"

"Nah, go ahead," Mickey said. "Is it always so busy in here?"

"Not usually at this time of day. I'm always here around this time. Never seen you here before," she said. Her British accent was clipped and sounded posh, although he didn't really know enough about British accents to place it.

"I have a meeting around here in a couple of hours. Just killing time," he said.

They chatted for a while and then, once he felt like she felt comfortable with him, he asked her to listen to a song on his phone. She put her earphones in his device and he pressed play on the conversation between Phil and Ian. Mickey empathized with her; he really did. He knew what it was like to find out the person you love is cheating on you. And it was obvious from the look on her face that she was finding out for the first time, if not about the gay thing, than at least about the fact that he had a long-standing boyfriend. She listened to the entire conversation, and then replayed it. Finally, she took out her earphones and nodded her head towards Mickey's phone. "Is that you on the recording? Are you Ian? What do you want, money?"

"No, I'm with the police. I don't even know who the young man on that recording is. I know you know the kind of people your husband works with. They might be cool with him having a male mistress, but somehow I doubt it. If you don't cooperate with our investigation, we could always play the recording for one of Jorez's associates and see what they think. That could land you in a foreign country with two kids, no job or money coming in, a dead husband, and none of his buddies too interested in helping you. If you _do_ cooperate with us, we might be able to use your information to catch a bigger fish than your husband and he might escape prosecution this time. If he does go down, we could help you out with whatever immigration problems you might have if your husband was suddenly deported for human trafficking. And that's not even bringing up the fact that from that particular recording, it sounds like you have knowledge of your husband's criminal activities. It goes without saying that if you don't cooperate, we'll prosecute you for any knowledge you had of your husband's dealings. I'm sure you can figure out where that would leave your kids."

"Shit," she said softy. She tapped her stir-stick against the table for several minutes, silently thinking, when she finally said, "What do you want me to do?"


	8. Chapter 8

Ian was feeling anxious, waiting for Mickey to get home. Phil had been texting non-stop all day, demanding to see Ian. He wished he'd been on the bipolar medication for longer. A couple of days _did_ make a difference, and it was a mix of medications that had worked magic on him last time he'd been on it, but it took a while to take full effect and he was worried if he got worked up enough he'd spiral into a manic episode.

Finally, he called Mickey, hoping that hearing his voice would help him calm down.

Mickey picked up after a couple of rings. "Ian? You okay?"

Ian gulped a few big breaths. "Phil's been texting me all day. I'm worried he's going to start up the threats again."

"Okay. Text him or email him and let him know you can get away to run in the park tomorrow, but I'm a control freak so I have to know where you're going and how long you'll be so you can only meet for like ten minutes. Cuts down on the likelihood he'll try to do anything to you. We'll have someone watch the meet. He might know who Jordan is by now and he might have someone follow you back to my place, so it shouldn't be either of us. All you'll say to him is that you're still under my thumb. If I'm right about this douchebag, he'll try to get you to get information about the investigation from me. So you just agree you'll try and that you'll be in touch, and then you run back to my place."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Ian said.

"I'll make sure you're safe. We've got the wife's cooperation, and as soon as we have the information we need from her, we'll see if there's a need for you to feed info to Jorez."

"As nerve-wracking as this double-agent shit is, I hope there _is_ a way for me to help. He threatened my family and he kept me from getting treatment for my condition and stalked me and got me addicted to drugs and forced me to sleep with him when I didn't want to. He's fucking terrible! I hate him so much, Mickey," Ian said. He realized he was in tears, and a part of him recognized that he finally felt safe enough to tell Mickey exactly how much he hated that dick Phil. It was like finally he believed that he wouldn't have to go back to Phil, so he could actually stop making excuses and trying to find good things about him and actually just be honest with himself and Mickey about how bad it had really been.

"You know, that shit he did to you is illegal. You could file a complaint with the police right now."

"Nah. I want to help you use him to take down everyone involved in this human-trafficking ring. I get the feeling he's not the worst of them, and believe me, he's bad enough. Besides, I don't want to take the risk he could actually hurt my family from inside of prison. He says he has people who would do that stuff for him, and I don't know if it's true."

"I really admire your commitment to taking this guy down, Ian. I do," Mickey said.

Ian couldn't remember the last time anyone had found anything he did or said admirable, and he couldn't help but feel warmth somewhere in the centre of his chest at the thought that he was maybe changing. Becoming a person again, instead of whatever he'd been when he was with Phil.

"Listen, I'll see you at home, okay? We can have leftovers. And I want you to show me your favorite video blogs."

"You mean _my_ video blog?"

"Yeah, like your favorite episodes or whatever. I'm going to be your biggest fan, you know," Mickey said.

"Okay," Ian said. He hung up, wrote the text that Mickey had requested he write, and looked at the clock. There was about an hour until Mickey got home, and he was still feeling jittery. He sat down on the floor, his back against the sofa, and made a list of things he could do to calm down, like one of his therapists had suggested he do when he felt anxious a few years ago.

1\. Meditation/deep breathing.

2\. Exercise.

3\. Take a sedative.

4\. Take a hot bath.

5\. Call Fiona.

It was stupid to even put number five on the list. That was something to do when he was calm, not when he was keyed-up. But the longer he spent getting his life together, the more he realized not telling his family where he was was fucking terrible. Sure, they weren't his children, but disappearing out of their lives was what Monica had always done, and he'd hated it. He'd had a good reason not to get in touch with his family the last couple of years; he didn't want them on Phil's radar any more than they already were. But he'd been a little shit to stay away before then.

On impulse, he shot Fiona a text. She'd texted him for about five years and he'd never replied. He wasn't sure why she had stopped texting him. She might have gotten a new phone number, or maybe Mickey hadn't been kidding when he'd said they'd had a wake for him.

His phone rang immediately.

"Ian?" she asked.

"Yeah Fiona. It's me," he said thickly.

All they could hear for the next few minutes was each other crying. Finally they managed to pull themselves together and Fiona asked where he was and what he was doing and was he okay.

"I'm okay, Fiona. I'm not very proud of some of my choices, but I'm turning my life around. I don't want to come back and turn everyone's life upside down and then take off again like Monica used to. I have to get out of some trouble and then I'll be back for good. I promise," he said.

"What kind of trouble? Is it the bipolar? Drugs? Do you owe someone money? Ian, let me help you," Fiona said.

"I'm okay. I didn't do anything wrong. I'm on meds for the bipolar but I just started them. I've got…I made some bad choices, and I've got a psycho boyfriend who I'm helping Mickey put in jail," Ian said.

"Mickey? Mickey Milkovich?" she asked.

"Yeah. So you know…You know I can count on him."

"Can you believe he works for the cops?" Fiona asked.

Ian laughed. "No. No, I can't. But in a way it makes sense. He's always been pretty protective of the people he cares about. I guess now he's just protecting more people."

"He never stopped loving you, Ian," she said. "None of us did. Thinking about you out there on your own has been like an open wound for all of us."

"I'm so sorry for worrying you," Ian said, his voice cracking. "At least for part of the time I had a good reason to stay away. I can't talk for long. I think Mickey just got home and we have things to plan. I just wanted to let you know I'm okay and we'll see each other soon."

"I'm so happy you're okay, Ian. Call me soon. Text me like once an hour, okay? You don't even need to send words. Emoticons are fine. Love you," she said.

"Love you, too," he said.

He looked up to see Mickey had walked in and was looking at him, his face impassive. "Jorez?" he asked.

Ian shook his head. "Fiona."

"I didn't know you were planning on calling her," Mickey said.

"I wasn't. I was just…I just wanted to," Ian said. He couldn't stop smiling, although he imagined he looked a bit crazed, considering his face must be puffy from crying. "I feel so fucking good right now, Mick. I haven't felt like this in years. Like maybe I'm worth something."

Mickey gave him a disapproving look. "Of course you're worth something. Don't fucking talk like that about yourself."

Ian shrugged. "I never felt like I was worth much, Mick. You always tried to tell me I all the good things I deserved and how I shouldn't let people use me. I told myself I was using them back, but even if I was, it's a shitty way to live. I'm so glad you found me again."

"Ian, even if we don't end up hooking up after all this, you know you're going to have to stay in touch, right? With me and the rest of your family," Mickey said.

Ian smiled a little at the way Mickey had said that. Mickey and the rest of his family. Mickey had called Ian his family so many times, but he hadn't realized that Mickey would still think that way after an absence of ten years. "I think Fiona's probably going to have me fitted with one of those tracking chips you put in dogs. She always said she was going to put one in Carl just in case."

"Speaking of which, we should probably turn the GPS on on your phone. If god forbid Jorez tries to grab you, we'll be able to track where you go," Mickey said.

"You think Jorez turned on the GPS?"

"I had the IT guy check your phone for spyware. Some guys like Jorez have clones of their obsession's phone so they can see everything they do or text and everyone they call. There's nothing like that on there. If he did track your GPS there's nothing much he can have learned from knowing your address. What you told him is too close to the truth."

"Obsession?"

"It's not normal to threaten to kill your boyfriend's family to get the boyfriend to stay with you. Even _I_ didn't do that shit, and I did really crazy shit all the time when I was younger," Mickey said.

"So you don't do crazy stuff anymore?"

"Not really. Although, I'm taking care of Yevgeny and Inga this Saturday, and that's usually pretty eventful."

"Inga?"

"Svetlana's sister. I take her when I take Ev. They're like brother and sister now and it just seemed cruel to take him and not her, especially when I always do things with Ev like take him to the zoo and stuff."

"Where are you taking them this time? Can I come?"

Mickey looked momentarily embarrassed, and then said, "We're going to the Field Museum. Ev likes it there, and it helps Inga learn English, I guess."

"That's adorable," Ian said.

Mickey scowled. "Shut the fuck up and load your blog. Vlog. Whatever. And of course you can come."

Mickey heated them up some of the leftovers from the previous two days' dinner, and Ian queued up the vlog entries he was most proud of. Mickey put the food down on the coffee table in front of Ian and himself with two glasses of water. "So what are your videos about, anyway?"

"Classic horror movies. You can watch so many of the old classics online now that I could watch them from anywhere and the internet has so much information I could do a lot of research just using google. And I always have a link to the movie, so people can watch the commentary and then watch the movie themselves. Makes the comments section pretty cool."

"Holy shit! Look at all your followers. You're fucking famous, man," Mickey said.

"Some of the videos for the more famous movies I've discussed get lots of hits because people are already searching for the movie. I wish that more people would go from watching my videos to watching some of the more obscure titles out there."

"Wanna watch one of the movies? After I watch like ten of these vlogs, of course," Mickey said.

"Yeah. I'll think about a title you'd like," Ian said.

Ian watched as Mickey sat and watched his vlog. His friend ate absently as he watched, and he seemed absolutely enthralled, and laughed and smiled at Ian's little jokes. He remembered Phil constantly telling him he spent too much time on his vlog and saying it wasn't worth it because he didn't make enough money to live on from it. It shouldn't surprise him that Mickey was more supportive than Phil had been—Phil was a horrible person. But Mickey hadn't always thought the ways he spent his time were worthwhile, either. Although maybe he'd had selfish and understandable reasons for not wanting Ian to be a soldier or a stripper.

It had kind of never occurred to Ian that if he was doing something that Mickey didn't consider dangerous or that made him worried and jealous, he'd, well, be Ian's biggest fan.

So it was Mickey's own fault that Ian kissed him.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I changed the rating to M because they have sex and stuff, although in my opinion it is not explicit at all. Anyhow, thanks for the follows and thoughtful reviews.**

After Ian kissed him, all bets were off. Mickey had tried to be smart about his feelings, but caution (or being smart) had never really been his strong suit. Mickey breathed into the kiss, loving the feeling of getting closer to someone he loved as much as loving the feeling of Ian's skilled kiss.

In a fluid motion, Mickey went from sitting beside Ian on the sofa to straddling his legs, still kissing him. Ian was touching his back and chest under his shirt, but they didn't pause to get undressed. It was like they were both worried if they broke the kiss they'd remember they weren't supposed to be doing this.

Ian undid Mickey's belt, unzipped his jeans, and nibbled on his bottom lip, then put his hand inside to cup Mickey's cock and balls. Mickey whimpered and reached for Ian through his jogging pants, and they kissed and rubbed each other until they came, messily and close together and pretty much fully clothed.

Mickey pulled back from the kiss, panting, and couldn't stop himself from kissing Ian's face. Forehead, cheek, chin, fucking nose, those little creases beside his eyes that hadn't been there before. Butterfly kisses for the creature he loved most on earth—something he'd always wanted to do but that had seemed too revealing, too real, too gay.

"That was just supposed to be a little kiss," Ian laughed.

Mickey continued kissing him on his face, saying between kisses, "A kiss is like a spark. For most people it might start a fire. Between you and me? Fuckin' spark might set off dynamite."

Ian grabbed Mickey's face and forced Mickey to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry I didn't respect what you wanted. I just—it's just hard to be smart with our feelings when I love you so fucking much," he said.

"Fuck me," Mickey breathed.

"I know," Ian murmured.

"That wasn't a fucking observation, Ian. That was a demand," Mickey said. "Or do you need more time? You are getting fucking on in years."

And he was on bipolar medication, which had once wreaked havoc on Ian's libido. But Ian was shoving Mickey off his lap and grabbing his hand, pulling Mickey upstairs and undressing on the way. Mickey followed suit and they were both naked by the time they got to the bedroom.

"I assume you have condoms and lube for your adventures with hot SWAT," Ian said.

"He change his contact info to that again? Last time he did that I changed it to SWAT twat," Mickey said.

Ian pushed Mickey on the bed roughly. "Don't fucking tell me about him. You're mine now. You fucking always were mine and you always will be," he said.

"There was never any doubt about that, Ian. Are you mine, though? All mine?" Mickey said.

"I won't fuck around this time. I promise. Jesus Christ, it feels like the last time I had sex that meant anything was with you. Losing you was the dumbest thing I ever did, and I've made some pretty bad decisions in my life, Mick."

"I don't care what you did or who you were with. You're with me now. I fucking love you," Mickey said.

"Turn over," Ian demanded. Mickey did as he was told, and the preparation seemed a bit foreign to him—Ian wasn't rough with him like he'd been when they were kids—but when Ian was inside him it was like going back in time. The rough violence of it combined with the soft words against his neck and the caresses on his back, the arm cradling his belly with a tenderness Ian often tried to hide, and the feathery kisses up and down his spine were all just the way they'd been back then.

Mickey came too soon, but nevertheless Ian soon followed him over the edge, despite the fact they'd just got off downstairs.

Mickey gulped for air and realized he was crying, sobbing, actually. Ian came out of the bathroom and saw him, and crouched beside the bed. "Jesus Mickey, did I fucking hurt you? If I hurt you I'll never forgive myself."

"I missed you so much, Ian," Mickey said. "If you fucking leave me again I'm 'a gut you like a fish."

Ian smiled tenderly. He made no promises, but got in the bed and gathered Mickey in his arms and held him for a long time, dozing and chatting and smoking the way they used to. It was still too early to really sleep, though, after a while they decided to go downstairs and watch the movie after all.

The next day at work, Mickey took some ribbing about his good mood, but he wasn't prepared to admit to anyone, even Jordan, that he'd let things with Ian go so far. He didn't regret it—he wasn't capable of regretting a night like that—but he did worry that he and Ian were both fooling themselves into thinking they could just turn back the clock and take up where they left off.

On his lunch break, Svetlana called to confirm the time he wanted the kids for Saturday. Before she hung up, Mickey said, "Listen, Ian's going to come with us. I hope that's okay with you."

"Ian Gallagher? Orange boy?" she asked.

Her accent and her English in general was a lot better these days, so it was kind of funny for him to hear her talk like that again. "Yeah, that Ian," he said. "He's not like he was, though. He's not in denial about having a problem anymore and he wouldn't do anything to hurt a kid either way. You know that."

"I don't give two shit about Ian," she said. "He used to be my friend, and he fucked us all over by leaving without a word. I don't trust him—but I trust you. You got my sister back and you helped me get through school so I could get a good job and become American citizen. And the children aren't babies. So you do what you want, Mickey. But I don't trust him not to hurt you again."

Mickey shrugged. He was sitting alone in a crowded restaurant and she couldn't see the gesture over the phone, but he didn't know how to put how he and Ian were together into words. They hurt each other, they fucked up, they helped each other, they dragged each other down, they loved each other like crazy, but somehow they each were the best possible person to stand beside the other. "I gotta try, though. You know that," he finally said.

"I know, baby," she said gently.

He said goodbye and hung up. Apparently he'd handed his balls over to Ian a few days ago if _Svetlana_ was calling him baby like she did her little sister.

He paid and was leaving the restaurant when his phone rang. "Shit," he said when he saw it was Lip.

"Mickey, what the fuck's happening? What kind of trouble is Ian in?"

"Lip, I gotta head back to work," Mickey said.

"Even after all this time, hearing you say you have to work just sounds wrong. And considering it's with the cops—"

"Yeah, fucking hilarious," Mickey agreed. "I gotta go."

"Fuck, Mick. Just give me a minute, will you?"

"Look Fiona tell you what Ian said? He's got a sicko boyfriend who I was investigating in my line of work," Mickey said.

"Human trafficking? Really?"

"I know. Makes you think back with a certain fondness to those creepy old dudes with the wandering hands, right?"

"So, what. You're using Ian to get to this guy? Is he in danger?"

"I wouldn't put Ian in danger, Lip. Come on. This guy was abusive. He threatened your fucking kid. He has to go down, not just because he's a scumbag, but because he hurt Ian and he's threatened to hurt people in your family to keep Ian with him."

"Scumbag is such a cop word," Lip said.

Mickey rolled his eyes. "I tell you this guy threatened your kid and you're focused on the fact that I used a cop word?"

"My child has her own bodyguard, Mick. I'm not worried about some asshole hurting her. What about Debbie's kids though? He threaten them?"

"Yeah, maybe you should invite all the Gallaghers to stay with you in your compound," Mickey said. "Keep 'em safe just in case."

"I trust that you wouldn't do anything that would put us in danger," Lip said. "But if you want me to, it's done."

"It'll make Ian feel better," Mickey said.

"You think I could come over? Talk to Ian?"

"He's trying to get his head on right before he sees anyone. He was doing great, on his meds, had a vlog about horror movies, and then this creep made him go off his meds and threatened his family if he didn't do what he said," Mickey said. "I don't think he wants to see anyone until he's like, normal again. My guess is that might take a couple of weeks for his meds to kick in. He feels really shitty about making everyone worry."

"He _should_ feel shitty. Why didn't he just come to us for help?"

"I don't know if you know what it's like to be abused, Lip, but this guy made him feel like he was worthless had no other options. I don't think he realized any of us would help him. He thought that since he'd left us, we'd just turn our backs on him," Mickey said.

"I bet you turned your back for him quick enough," Lip teased.

"Yeah, I'm hanging up now," he said.

The meet between Ian and Phil Jorez was going down around three. Mickey had been getting increasingly nervous-sounding text messages from Ian all morning, and he had promised that he would be at home when Ian left and stay there until he returned. It had been decided that Miles would shadow Ian during the run. Mickey hated that it couldn't be him, but he liked Miles and trusted Ian with him.

Meanwhile, they'd been interviewing Jorez's wife all morning in a safe house that was currently empty. She'd taken some pictures on her phone of papers relating to the business and had been far more helpful then they'd initially thought she'd be. When Mickey got back after lunch, he asked Jessica about the code her husband's papers were in.

She laughed. "It's just a substitution cipher. There's an easy way to solve it. Just scan it into a word processer, and then find and replace each letter with the one three letters after it. Or, god knows, he might have gotten original and went four letters."

"That doesn't seem really practical," Mickey said.

"My brother is a computer programmer and made him an app where he just had to snap a photo of the sheets and it would translate. I suppose if you have access to a phone with that app, it would be even simpler to do that," she said.

Mickey just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He'd stopped feeling bad about turning her against her own husband forty-seven sneers ago. She was kind of ballsy, though, and he couldn't imagine _he_ would have been particularly sweet to people trying to use him against people he cared about, either.

He swung by the station and grabbed the phone the cokehead manager of the brothel where they'd found Ian had been carrying, the papers Mickey had found in the office and had been trying to decode, and his work computer.

When he got to the house, Ian was nearly frantic. He had to leave in about twenty minutes, and he was pretty worked up.

Mickey got on his knees and helped Ian take the edge off.

When he was done, Ian ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to give myself a buzz-cut tonight. Get rid of the black. I've got red roots right now. Might look at little weird at first. Like Carl when he was a little kid."

"Can't fucking wait," Mickey said, kissing him lightly. "Redheads are fucking sexy."

"He's probably going to kiss me, Mickey," Ian said. "Might be better if my mouth didn't taste like jizz."

"Hey, you told him you were sleeping with me," Mickey said, shrugging.

Ian leaned in for a deep, thorough kiss that made Mickey even harder than sucking Gallagher off already had him. Instead of taking it any further, Ian ran up the stairs and brushed his teeth.

Ian finally left for his run, looking more solid and confident than he had when Mickey had first gotten home, and Mickey started translating the documents.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Warnings for mentions of past suicide attempt. Oh and some sex.**

Ian was glad the way the meet had worked out he got to jog for half an hour before he saw Jorez to work off some of his nerves. Knowing if he just handled his ex—or soon to be ex—just the right way meant Mickey would be proud of him helped, too.

In fact, as he ran, he said the word Mickey every step, like a mantra. It made him feel a little obsessive and crazy, like a kid writing his crush's name all over his notebook, but it helped to know that talking to Jorez right now meant eventually getting rid of Jorez. Getting rid of Jorez meant getting his life back. Getting his life back meant making sure Mickey knew he was serious when he said he loved him, and proving he could be a good, faithful boyfriend for once.

He got to the park and looked around but couldn't remember what Miles looked like and didn't recognize any of the other joggers around. Actually, he wasn't sure if Miles was in a car or what. He saw Jorez, though, standing by a rock wall near the water.

He jogged up. "Hey," he said.

"Baby, I'm so glad you're okay," Jorez said.

Ian looked at him. He was probably a couple of years older than Mickey, taller than Ian, and pretty handsome, his tanned skin contrasting with his dirty blond hair. Funny, though, Ian had never been really attracted to him, even when they'd dated. It had all been about Jorez manipulating him and Ian feeling like he owed the guy something.

Jorez pulled him into a hug, and he pulled the man in tight, closing his eyes and imagining he was anyone else. He went to kiss Ian and instinctively Ian turned his face away. He realized his mistake and so tried to look pouty and like he was playing hard to get. He'd never really been that kind of guy, though, so he was surprised when it worked.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm sorry you have to stay with that cop and do what he says. I know you probably think I'm above the law, but even people as powerful as me don't mess with cops. You gotta stay with him a little longer."

"How long?" Ian asked.

"I told you, darling. I can't make a move on a cop. You just have to stay with him until he tires of you."

"What if he doesn't?" Ian asked.

"I'm sure you can make your displeasure known in all sorts of subtle ways," Jorez said dryly.

He'd know, since he'd been holding Ian hostage through threats for years and Ian hadn't exactly taken that with good grace and had certainly let him know he was unhappy in _many_ subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Ian hated to remind Jorez of that fact since he was running on con on him now and need Jorez to think he was sincere. "I'm sorry I ever argued with you about being together. You were right. We belong together. Being with you even some of the time is better than being with him all of the time," Ian said.

"You really believe that?" he asked.

"Of course," Ian said.

Jorez kissed him soundly, cramming his tongue in Ian's mouth as Ian struggled to show equal ardor. "If you really love me, Ian, you have to do something for me."

"Anything," Ian said.

"You have to tell me what they have on me. I need to know what they know so I can distance myself from those operations and get rid of the evidence I was ever involved. You can get this cop you're sleeping with to talk to you about me, can't you?"

Ian shrugged and twisted away. "I don't know. He'll suspect. I told you he'd have me thrown in prison for twenty-five years if he knew I even talked to you. What do you think he'd do if he thought I was spying on him for you?"

"Well, if you can't talk to him about it, has he ever brought you to his office? Does he ever bring work home? Maybe you get him drunk and send me pictures of what he's working on. Don't bother reading it. I doubt you'd understand it anyway," Jorez said.

Ian looked away, fighting against the urge to punch this shit-face in the dick. "I don't know. I know he has some work stuff on his phone, and once he took his work computer home. Maybe I can take a look once he passes out. He _is_ a pretty heavy drinker."

"If you do this, I'd find a way to reward you. Maybe you could tell him you were going to visit your family and we could sneak off to a hotel. We could order a ridiculous amount of room service, and I might even buy you that Rolex you've been eying."

Ian felt nauseous. That had pretty much been his dream date, once-upon-a-time, and it made him sick to think he'd been so happy to sell himself so cheap. Back then those men had known they were only buying his body; Jorez actually thought he'd sell his soul for a fancy watch and a little spoiling. He nevertheless tried to channel his younger self and smiled coyly. "Sounds like fun. Make sure you remember the bubbly."

"Always," he said.

Ian suffered through another kiss and then ran home. He found Mickey surrounded by papers with two phones on and a laptop open, but before he could even stop to be curious enough to ask what Mickey was doing, he pulled Mickey up so he was standing and kissed him.

"Did it go well?" Mickey asked.

Ian couldn't stop kissing him. "I gotta get rid of the taste of him. Taste of you is the only thing I want in my mouth."

Mickey laughed, looking a bit incredulous. "You sure? I haven't brushed my teeth in hours."

"I need you to kiss me. Wash away the feel of him. He made me feel so fucking dirty, Mickey. You're so pure," he said.

"Never been accused of that before," Mickey said. He took off his shirt and ran up the stairs, Ian following. Ian was wearing skin-tight running clothes and couldn't exactly disrobe as he ran, but when he got in the bedroom he stripped in record time. Mickey was on the bed naked, waiting, and the feel of fucking him really did make Ian feel somehow purer.

When they were done, Mickey sat up in bed and lit a cigarette. "I should call Jordan. She's probably still in the office and I learned a shit-ton today, and we've got to tell her what happened when you talked to Jorez."

Ian leaned over and kissed Mickey's hip, unable to stop running his hands all over Mickey. "Why don't you invite her over for pizza? It looked like whatever you found out was pretty fucking complicated judging by the mess all over the place in the living room."

"That okay with you? You know she really likes you. I think she might like you more than she likes me," Mickey said.

"Everyone likes me more than they like you, Mickey. I'm a likable guy. You're an angry thug."

"Oh yeah, smart guy?" Mickey asked, laughing. He pushed Ian and Ian pushed back, and before long they were wrestling and laughing.

"Come take a shower with me," Ian said, kissing Mickey lightly. "And then you can call her."

They showered quickly and then dressed in sleep pants and t-shirts and went downstairs. Mickey called Jordan and she agreed to come over shortly to hear what they each had to say.

"It's a good thing I work out so much. I've eaten better with you than I have…I don't know, probably ever," Ian said.

Mickey shrugged. "I never really had good food growing up. I try to eat all the food groups and have at least two complete meals a day."

"That's really good. It's good for me, too. I mean, it's hard to get better from something like bipolar if you're not eating right and getting enough sleep," Ian said.

"Yeah, how's all that going? You feeling okay?"

"Right now? I'm feeling amazing. I was okay before you found me—I'd just gotten passed a…are you sure you want to hear this?"

Mickey nodded. "I want to be with you. Probably for good. I want to understand what you're going through."

"Okay. A couple of months ago I was really low. Like I figured, what the hell is the point of living if I'm just this dumb gangster's fuck toy and nothing else? So I tried to kill myself."

"Shit," Mickey whispered.

"You know how people hang themselves from doorknobs? I tried it. Luckily I kind of did it wrong and chickened out right after. I still had things I wanted to do. As stupid as it sounds, I still had my blog and my fans and I thought maybe there was still a chance Phil would get sick of me or something. I was like, waiting for a shot to get out. I should have gone to the police—"

Mickey shook his head. "You don't have to explain, Ian. Not to me. I mean, I stayed with Terry all those years. And anyway, you did get out so there's no point in beating yourself up about it anymore. So you got past this low cycle, but you feel pretty even now?"

"Yeah. I mean, even though things seemed really hopeless when I was with Phil, I had gotten a lot of therapy when I got my life together for those couple of months and so I had some strategies to deal with how I was feeling. Positive self-talk, learning to find happiness in the life I had even though there were major problems, that kind of thing. And right now things are looking up so much and I'm so happy I keep on wondering if I'm going into a high cycle. I don't think that's what it is. I think I'm just happy. I mean, the stress of dealing with Phil is kind of…possibly triggering symptoms. But I can deal with it. I can calm myself down, and the meds should support the meditation and stuff when they really kick in in a couple of weeks."

"I don't want you to put your health in danger, Ian."

"I know you don't. But it makes more sense to get rid of Jorez and all his cronies as quick as we can and then we never have to think of them again. The stress of thinking my connection with him is putting the people I love in danger is so much worse over time, you know?"

"Shit, Ian. I forgot to tell you. I talked to Lip today. Told him to move your family into his high security compound to make sure they're safe, just until this investigation is over."

"What if Jorez really has someone watching them? Won't that tip him off?"

"I doubt he has anyone monitoring kindergarten classes. That's just this dick Jorez using the fact that you've seen a lot of mob movies against you. He's not all powerful. He probably only has a couple of guys who answer to him and they probably already have fulltime duties. Besides, better the operation goes south than one of your family's kids gets hurt. We'd get him another way."

Ian exhaled slowly. "I guess you're probably right."

"Oh, and check this out," Mickey said. He picked up his phone and scrolled through the menu, and then held up his twitter feed. There was a tweet from "Galllip" which said, _Just checked out my bro's awesome vlog. What say we show him some love?_ The address for Ian's vlog followed.

"Is that Lip's twitter-handle?" Ian asked.

"Yeah, he's always sharing neat things about robotics and crap because of his job. Like every techy-nerd alive follows him, which means he basically owns the internet, now. It's kind of insufferable."

"Sounds like Lip," he said. "I wonder if it increased my followers?"

There was a knock on the door and Mickey went to let Jordan in while Ian checked his views on his videos. He couldn't believe it. All of his videos views had gone up by millions overnight. It was really fucking cool, kind of annoying that Lip had been partially responsible, and made him a little nervous. How could he live up to having millions of viewers? That was more than lots of successful cable shows had.

"Hi Jordan. Mickey, I think I'm famous," Ian said.


	11. Chapter 11

Ian gave Mickey and Jordan a detailed report of what had happened in his meeting with Jorez, and then Mickey showed her what he'd been up to while Ian did that. Jordan was reading through all the documents Mickey had translated and so Mickey went over to the kitchen table where Ian was sitting. "You okay? You look a little shell-shocked."

"I don't think I ever thought I would get millions of views. Jesus," he said.

"I'm glad this happened. You deserve it. Your videos are really good," Mickey said.

Ian shrugged. "Lip's followers are just doing what he told them to do."

"I don't know how that stuff works. Like, I guess you'll find out if these people really like your videos after you release the next three or four episodes, right? Like, if they actually come back to view them without any prompting from Lip or if they subscribe or whatever," Mickey said.

"Yeah. I guess I should hold off on buying a car until I know if this is just a fluke," Ian said, laughing.

"They'll come back," Mickey said. "And either way you've gone viral, and that means all sorts of exposure."

"Right now I really wish I knew more about Jorez's business so I could help you put him away."

"We wouldn't have anything if it wasn't for you," Mickey said. "We only knew how to decrypt these pages because we used your conversation with Jorez to get his wife to talk, and she told us about it." Ian looked doubtful, and Mickey covered Ian's hand with his own. "I'm serious. You've helped us so much already."

"What are those papers?"

"They're basically internal company documents. It seems like Jorez liked to keep a close eye on his people and make sure they all knew what was happening in the rest of the company. It's like, who the fuck applies the corporate structure to a prostitution ring? It pains me to say this, but he's actually not as small-time as I thought. Looks like he had seven operations similar to the one where you were living, although we're still sorting through the addresses and stuff, and there's lot of real estate that we're not sure what he's using it for."

"You think he could be using some of his properties for human trafficking?"

Mickey shrugged. "It's possible. We'd have to raid them to be sure. Since his operation is so huge, we'd have to have a big group of cops to do that—we'd have to do it all at once because we wouldn't want him closing shop because he thought we were getting close."

"Yeah, that's what he wanted me to do. He wanted me to find out which operations the police know about so he could distance himself from them in case they got raided."

"You hear that Jordan? You think we should give him something to make him trust that Ian has good information?"

"No one cares about high-class brothels running drug-addicted whores, and shutting them down is not exactly in our mandate. But if we get Ian to tell him we know about them, he'll probably panic and shut them down on his own. Which is good, because I want to leave this guy with nothing," Jordan said.

Ian laughed a little. "What's he ever done to you?"

"He hurt you, for one," Jordan replied. She yawned, not noticing the way Ian had frozen at her words. "So are we going to get pizza or what?"

Mickey looked at Ian, sure what Jordan had said would have moved Ian to tears if he hadn't had so much practice hiding his emotions the last few years. Mickey grabbed his phone and ordered the pizza, allowing himself the pleasure of grabbing Ian's shoulder and squeezing his reassurance. Ian leaned into his touch, half-hugging Mickey, and so Mickey moved his hand down from Ian's shoulder to his chest, where Ian's hand covered it for a moment.

He left Ian to his computer, now open on the kitchen table, and moved to sit with Jordan.

"Not going to get excited, huh?" she whispered.

Mickey shook his head. "Yeah, that lasted, what, a day? Self-control has never been one of my virtues."

"You can be forgiven. If I had a guy who looked like that and looked _at me_ like that, I'd be all over him too," she said.

"If you two have things to talk about, I think I'm going to shave my head. I hate this black hair," Ian said.

"What's your natural color?" Jordan asked.

"Ginger," Ian said. He smiled softly. "Mickey likes it."

Jordan got up and grabbed a hold of Ian's hair, examining the roots, apparently. Ian gave Mickey a disbelieving look and Mickey shrugged. "I guess to her you're just a big, dopey-looking Ken doll."

Finally Jordan's examination was complete. "Let me cut it instead. You've got pretty long roots here. I can give you a nice cut. Some of the tips might be a bit black, but that'll just look cool and punk rock."

"What, are you like a beauty-school dropout or something?" Mickey joked.

Jordan glared. "I'll make it pretty. If it sucks you can shave it off. And Mick, if you tell anyone at the office I cut your boyfriend's hair like we're girlfriends I'll cut off your balls."

Ian looked at Jordan sideways. "You gotta take some other part of him. His balls are mine."

"I like this guy," Jordan said, laughing as she pulled Ian upstairs. "We're keeping him."

 _Yeah, I fucking hope so_ , Mickey thought to himself.

He paid for the pizza when it came and got out plates and drinks, then called up the stairs. "You girls finished braiding each other's hair or whatever? The pizza's here."

When Ian came down the stairs, Mickey felt like he'd gone back in time. Ian had never had his hair in exactly that style before, but it was cute and edgy and Mickey thought he looked amazing. It reminded him a little of how he'd had it when he was dancing at Fairytale. It was shaved around the back and sides. Back then it had been long on top, now it was spikey and darker near the ends. "Holy shit, Jordan. So did you actually _graduate_ from beauty school?"

"I know, right?" she said.

Ian spread his arms wide, palms up. "I look super-hot, don't I? I'm starting to feel like my old self again."

"God help us," Mickey muttered.

"Hey, I heard that, motherfucker," Ian said, and his cocky smile was just like it was when Ian had been a reckless boy. It sent a shiver of desire all the way through Mickey, but there was fear there, too. Usually when Ian looked that cocky bad things happened. But this new, older Ian only grabbed the back of Mickey's neck possessively and kissed him hard. He might as well have said, "You're mine, bitch." Honestly if he _had_ said it, Mickey would have only been more turned on.

"You got no idea what you do to me, Ian," he breathed.

Ian smiled smugly. "I have an idea. Now calm the fuck down and go talk to your boss."

Mickey took a deep breath and tried to tamp down the desire he always felt around Ian, no matter that they'd just fucked upstairs before Jordan got there; no matter how many times they fucked.

He walked over to where Jordan stood, already eating a slice. "You have to make him look so fucking hot?"

"It's not like you were resisting his charms before," Jordan scoffed. "What are you doing this weekend?"

"Got the kids Saturday. Ian's coming with us to a museum," Mickey said.

"Ian go in for that stuff?"

"He loves kids. He loves Yevgeny. Used to take care of him when he was a baby. He's grown so much. Ian won't believe it," Mickey said.

"You really don't know the meaning of holding anything back," Jordan said. She shook her head, but there was an element of admiration in her tone. "Have fun. We'll have a strategy meeting first thing Monday morning about what Ian should tell dick-breath, if anything. Tell the kiddies hi from me."

Ian was still in a great mood after Jordan left. "I want to do a vlog. I'm in the mood to do an awesome show."

"Okay but don't fucking post it. Jorez might watch it and notice you're glowing so much you're practically radioactive."

"That's love," Ian said. "It's because I love you, Mick. You know that, right?"

Mickey shook his head. "I know you look fucking hot. Gorgeous goddamned ginger alien-lookin' motherfucker."

"What's a good backdrop for my show?"

Ian was off on a tear, deciding the oddly-shaped nook where Mickey had his empty beer cases was the best place. Mickey watched him rush around, noticing the wildness in his eyes, but not worried yet. And not wanting to bring Ian down from this high, even if it was because of his bipolar. "Hey, Ian," he finally said.

After a couple of more tries, he finally got Ian's attention, and the look Ian gave him was as frightened as it was euphoric. "The drugs'll take the edge off, Mick. I know they will. I'm sorry."

Mickey walked up to Ian and wrapped his arms around the taller man. He could feel Ian's rapid heartbeat, and he tried to telegraph calm through his skin to Ian's. "Hey, it's okay. It happens. Who doesn't get excited by a good haircut?" Mickey asked.

Ian laughed and held on even tighter, so tight Mickey almost felt winded. "Why are you so good to me? So good _with_ me?"

"How can I help?"

Ian trembled in Mickey's arms. "Run me a bath?" he finally said. "I'm going to do some pull-ups. Use up some of this energy. I'm sorry."

"Okay. I'll do that and then I'll get you your pills and some water and, like, hot chocolate or tea or something."

"Camomile," Ian said.

"You bought some?"

"I put it in the cupboard where you keep your coffee," Ian said.

After the pull-ups and his bath and his tea, Ian seemed a bit more settled. Mickey stripped down to his boxers and lay down with him on the bed, rubbing Ian's back like he'd seen moms do with their kids on TV. Like he'd done with Yev when his son was sick. Ian turned his head to look at Mickey, his face sadder than Mickey had ever seen it. "I'm always going to be like this. When the meds kick in they'll take the edge off and they'll make the highs and lows more manageable, but I still won't be normal. And at any time the pills I'm taking could stop working right or make my body toxic and attack my liver and I wouldn't be able to take them anymore. I'm sorry. I wish I could be better for you. We were having such a great night and I ruined it."

Mickey fought the temptation to take his hand away, sort of offended that Ian wouldn't trust him with this part of himself after everything they'd been through. He forced himself to keep rubbing Ian's back and pitched his voice low. "You know what? I fucking loved tonight."

"No you didn't," Ian said.

"I did," Mickey said. "I loved it because you were honest with me about what was happening, and you told me how to help you, and I did it, and now you feel better, don't you?"

Ian nodded.

"Me too," Mickey said.

"What if you get sick of helping me?" Ian whispered.

"You gonna tell me to fuck off if I get a cold, or are you going to make me a cup of soup and give me a lozenge? Come on, Ian. Give me some credit. I love you. And it won't be every day, right? So…Jesus. Do you honestly think that making you tea every couple of days is going to be a deal breaker for me? Because I would put up with a lot worse for you."

"But you're so great. You've got your head on straight and a good job and friends and family who know exactly how awesome you are. It's not like I'm the only one who sees the real you, like before. You don't need anything from me anymore," Ian said.

"Ian, I need _you_. Having you here, in my life, it makes everything better. I like to take care of you. I want to make you happy. Keep you safe. I want you to forget anything bad ever happened to you," Mickey said.

"What if I've changed? What if we both have?" Ian asked.

Mickey knew what he meant. It had been ten years. It hadn't seemed to have changed much between them so far, but what if after a few weeks they realized they'd changed too much and they weren't compatible anymore?

"Nothing is going to make me not want to be your friend, okay? If it turns out we don't want to be together, we're never gonna lose each other. And I'm still always going to want to help."

Ian smiled and closed his eyes. Somehow Mickey had managed to say the right thing again. He tried to loosen up the tension in his shoulders, getting under the covers and spooning with Ian. Ian put his arm around Mickey in that possessive, protective way that Mickey had always secretly loved, and Mickey reached and took hold of Ian's hand.


	12. Chapter 12

Ian woke up, pulling Mickey closer and taking a deep breath of the scent of him, nosing closer to the back of his neck. Mickey was still asleep, and Ian took a moment to appreciate how lucky he was to have his lover in his arms again.

He remembered how nice Mickey had been to him the previous night. How he'd made it seem like it was no big deal to help and like he _wanted_ to help. Ian didn't think he'd ever felt as loved and accepted and bone-deep _safe_ in his life as he'd felt when Mickey had rubbed his back and spoken to him so gently. It was a perfect feeling—although waking up with Mickey in his arms wasn't half bad.

Ian wondered if he could go back to his family as easily as he'd weaseled his way into Mickey life. Somehow he didn't think they'd be so forgiving. He suspected he was some kind of unicorn to Mickey—some perfect unattainable being that made Mickey feel worthwhile. The way he felt about Mickey wasn't far off from that, either. His family, however, wasn't going to see anything when they looked at him but another Monica. Another irresistible, fun figure that made you adore them and then tore your heart out when they left you…and they would _always_ leave you.

He had.

He'd sworn he'd never leave, and in the end he had. He'd sworn he'd never try to take his life, and he had. It was enough to make Ian spiral downwards from his recent high, to think of how far he'd ended up from all the promises he'd made himself.

Mickey stirred, and he shrugged his way out of Ian's grasp.

"You getting up already?"

"Svetlana's dropping the kids off at like eight. I usually take them out for breakfast. You still want to come?"

Ian was feeling pretty far from invincible right now, and he wasn't sure he was up to impressing two hard-eyed Russian pre-teens. "What are they like?"

"Yev's really sweet. Like no Milkovich ever. Inga is…she's very quiet. I suspect she's very smart. Pretty damaged, too. She'd been sold quite a few times before I got a hold of her. She has trouble trusting people," Mickey said.

"But she doesn't mind coming here with you? Is that because Yev is here? Are they close?"

"They are, but that's not why she doesn't mind coming here. She remembers fucking everything, including the day I came and compared her face to a worn out picture and talked to her in broken-ass Russian about who her parents were. So she's got some idea that I'm like her hero or something."

"You saved her," Ian said.

"Yeah, well, it's not like I would have done anything at all to save her if Svetlana hadn't asked me to. It's like, misplaced gratitude or whatever," Mickey said. "She should be idolizing her sister, not me."

"Yeah, except you're still working for the cops shutting down human trafficking rings. You're still saving other girls like her. No one's asking you to."

Mickey shrugged and shuffled his feet and got up, and Ian could tell he had no patience for listening to Ian tell him how much he admired him for what he was doing.

Ian decided he could let himself get into a funk over leaving everyone, or he could get up and start making things up to people. And he was excited to see Yev. "You ever get a DNA test?"

"Svetlana said she did. Last time Terry was out he got drunk and raped her, and she went to the cops, and he eventually died on the inside. Svetlana was really fucking guilty that she could have killed her kid's father, so she had a DNA test, and apparently Yev is really mine. I guess getting your kid's grandfather killed ain't a big deal in Russia."

"You blame her for your dad's death?"

"You kidding? I _loved_ her for getting him sent up again and killed. It was part of the reason I agreed to risk my neck finding her kid sister. I just think her logic is totally fucked. I mean, if he had been Yevgeny's dad, then she would have been cool with him raping her? Doesn't make any fucking sense," Mickey said. He shrugged. "Anyway, it never mattered to me. Fucker looks just like me. I figured if he wasn't my kid he was probably Terry's, so at least he was a Milkovich and I couldn't do worse than Terry did raising me."

"I bet those kids love you desperately," Ian said. He couldn't quite imagine what having a dad like Mickey would be like. He was gruff, but he was so protective of people he loved that Ian suspected his rough talk would only make his kids feel safe. "Why don't they stay over?"

"One bedroom. They stay over on the sofa sometimes if Svetlana needs me to watch them, but usually if she's away and I have them over night I just stay at her place. I bought this place really cheap and prices around here have gone up, so I might sell and try to find a bigger place eventually. I'd like a three bedroom so they can both have their own room."

"Wait a little longer," Ian said. Mickey raised his eyebrows. "If I move in with you, you know, for good, I'd want a room I could make into study slash studio. That means four bedrooms. Or three bedrooms and a basement. So just wait a little longer before you sell this place, okay?"

Ian thought Mickey was going to freak out, but he only smiled cockily. "If you're paying for half, we might as well add a yard and a swimming pool."

Ian took Mickey's advice and stayed upstairs while Svetlana was in the house, only coming down the stairs when he heard her car pull away.

"Yev, Inga, this is my boyfriend Ian. He's going to come with us, today. Hope that's okay," Mickey said.

Ian looked at the two kids. They really could have been twins; they were the same size, although Inga was at least two years older than Yev, from all Mickey had told him. They both had mousy brown hair, delicate features, and those icy-blue eyes that both Svetlana and Mickey also had.

"I used to take care of you when you were a baby, Yevgeny. I can't believe how much you've grown. I just want to get to know both of you. If that's okay," he said.

They were polite to Ian, but Mickey was clearly the one they had both come to see.

They ignored Ian through breakfast, but by the time they got to the museum, they'd realized that having attention from two adults was better than having attention from one, whose attention they would have had to split between them. Or maybe they'd just started to like Ian. He knew better than to try to force them to like him; he'd babysat enough to know you had to let most kids come to you. Ian and Mickey were pulled from one exhibit to the next, Mickey sending Ian occasional gazes that showed he was incredulous at how much the kids actually liked this dusty old crap.

By the time Mickey dropped the kids off at Svetlana's Ian was half-asleep and couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun. "That might just be the most wholesome thing I've ever done," Ian said.

"What can I say? I got fuckin' gentrified somehow," Mickey said. "Don't tell Frank. He'd go off on a tirade about it."

"You grew up," Ian said. "It makes me proud, you know? How'd you grow up so fine?"

"You," Mickey said.

Ian looked at Mickey quizzically, but Mickey didn't say any more and Ian didn't ask him to elaborate. He guessed he knew what Mickey meant. He knew what it had meant to him to have Mickey love him, and Ian had been loved his whole life. He could only imagine what Ian loving Mickey had meant to him; Mickey who'd never been anything but a disappointment to his father and who'd never even mentioned his mother to Ian once in all the time they'd spent together. Yeah, Mandy loved Mickey fiercely, and Ian suspected his idiot brothers loved him just as much—only it was probably easy for Mickey to disregard that love as the dumb animal instinct of a pack, rather than the choice that Ian had made to see something in Mickey he could love.

Not that Ian had ever had a choice about loving Mickey. They'd been fucking then they'd been friends and then suddenly and irresistibly—involuntarily, like a sneeze—Mickey had just about become the most important thing in the world to Ian.

"Was it okay, though?" Mickey asked.

Ian looked over at Mickey, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"It wasn't like a drag to hang out with them? You wouldn't mind…if we get a bigger place, we'd probably have them every weekend and maybe some weekdays depending on what works for Svetlana. That wouldn't piss you off?"

"Are you kidding? They're great. I love Yevgeny. It's funny…I can still see qualities he had when he was a baby…I mean, he hasn't changed that much. Obviously he's bigger, and he talks more, but seeing him today was still like seeing someone I already knew more than meeting someone for the first time. When I think I could have been in his life all this time it makes me so pissed off at myself. But it was probably better for him. He shouldn't have to deal with me being all unstable," Ian said.

"What's done is done. Sounds like the only one who's holding anything against you is Svetlana, and you know how she is. She don't trust well, or easily. She'll come around when she realizes you're not gonna take off again," Mickey said.

"I won't," Ian said. "I swear I won't. I wouldn't do that to you."

Mickey shrugged and smiled and didn't look particularly worried, and Ian felt his heart sink. How could he convince Mickey he wasn't going to cut and run if he wasn't sure himself what he was capable from day-to-day? He'd never thought he'd pull the kinds of things his mother had, and he had. Mickey had this blind faith in him, and he wanted more than anything to be worthy of it, but he didn't trust himself. It was part of the reason he'd broken up with Mickey all those years ago, and he didn't want to find himself at that place again where he felt the need to break up with Mickey to protect him. He wiped a tear absently, and Mickey must have seen him do it, because he pulled over immediately.

"Why are you crying right now?" Mickey asked, his voice annoyed.

Ian cringed. He knew Mickey didn't like high maintenance and he didn't like emotions. He tried to shut it down. "Nothing. Keep going."

"No. Fucking tell me," Mickey said.

"There's a blowjob in it for you if you just forget it."

"Bitch please. You'd blow me anytime, anywhere. You can't bribe me with it when you're always into it. Now tell me why you're crying."

"I'm not," Ian said, but the trembling in his voice made a liar out of him.

"You can trust me, Ian. You can tell me anything. You don't have to hide your feelings from me. Remember how just fucking telling me what was going on helped you last night? I won't let you shut me out again," Mickey said.

Ian shook his head, pulled himself together, and said, "I just don't want to fuck this up. I don't want to lose this. I know I'm going to fuck this up. I don't…I don't trust myself anymore."

"I won't let you, okay? How about we make a deal, okay? I'm a stupid fuck and you're a crazy fuck and we both do stupid crazy shit that messes everything up all the time. How about we…what if we, like, don't make any quick decisions? Like, if you get mad at me, you tell me, and then we wait like, a week before we decide what to do? Or we agree that we'll go into counselling before we ever decide to split up? Or we just promise to remember that nothing is more important to us than staying together?"

"Well, your job and your kids have got to be more important to you than _us_ staying together," Ian said doubtfully.

Mickey shook his head. "Something I've learned about being a parent is that you have to take care of yourself to be a good one. If I lose you I won't be fit to do anything or take care of anyone. And I already told Jordan I'd leave my job if she took you to jail before we even really talked let alone got back together."

"That's what you said to her so she wouldn't arrest me?" Ian asked.

"Think I could work for people who put you in jail?"

Ian found himself starting to cry again. "But I didn't do anything to deserve this. Why are you so nice to me? How the fuck can you forgive me for everything I put you though? When the fuck is the other shoe gonna drop?"

"You loved me when I wouldn't even smile at you. You forgave me for so much. I'm just…I don't know how to love someone any way but the way you taught me to. The way you showed me when you loved me. And you never really taught me how to stop loving you," Mickey said, laughing slightly.

"That's 'cause I never stopped loving you, Mick," Ian whispered.

"I know," Mickey said.

"Um, sorry. For crying like a little bitch. And to finish answering your question from before…I love your kids. I would love to be a part of their lives. I would be okay with being an even bigger part—if something happened to Svetlana or they all needed a place to stay or something. I liked it when we all lived together. I always wanted kids and I don't think anyone is ever going to let me adopt one. I'm…I'm honored that you want me to be in their lives. I won't let you down."

"I know," Mickey said.

Mickey smiled that perfect, rare smile of his, and Ian finally was able to shut down his stupid insecurities for a minute and let himself feel the warmth spreading through him. A nearly hysterical burst of laugher escaped his mouth, and he smiled through his tears. He was starting to believe that he could really have this.


	13. Chapter 13

Mickey and Ian spent a blissed out Sunday messing around, playing video games and basking in their new-found confidence that they both wanted to move forward with their relationship. Mickey was helpless to argue with anything Ian wanted; he always had been.

It was kind of hell to get back to work Monday morning. They decided that Ian could come with him into work because if Jorez was watching him, he'd probably assume Ian was just trying to get information for him, so Ian came to the meeting where the police would decide what he should "discover" when he supposedly snooped through Mickey's things.

Ian was quiet throughout the briefing. The cops in the room had all given him a second glance when they saw him walk in. Not only was his hair red again, he was holding his head up with confidence and striding through rooms with the swagger and charm Mickey remembered from when they were kids. He looked everyone in the eye and smiled when he was introduced around the room, and Mickey admired his confidence. He knew Ian was probably inwardly freaking out—he remembered what it had been like for him the first day he'd attended a briefing, and he hadn't been in the humiliating situation of being rescued from a brothel.

Mickey let his fingers graze Ian's, and he allowed Ian to grab hold of his hand, tight. Ian looked over at him in surprise and gratitude. He led him to the briefing room, and they sat down. Jordan started speaking as soon as everyone was seated.

First, she gave a quick recap of how Mickey had found the information he needed to crack the code, and then she started going over the papers they'd decrypted. "There's lists of names and locations. Unfortunately, some of the papers were damaged when the dumb-fuck tried to flush them. We only have the physical address of three out of seven of the locations. None of those deeds are in Jorez's name. One has already been shut down in last week's raid, and the other two have been infiltrated by informants and they seem as innocuous as the King Street location. Not great, but the employees are paid and of age, so more vice's problem than ours. Lucas, have you managed to find anything more on the locations?"

"We've been following Jorez and his underlings, and we think we've found at least two more potential properties, one of which is isolated enough that it could be a place they're using to hold child slaves."

"Five out of seven," Jordan said. "Not bad. But we don't want anyone left. If some underling isn't implicated and has access to one or two of the properties, he'll be able to rebuild this without any trouble. We need everything."

Miles spoke up. "Thanks to Ian letting us use his phone, we got four additional taps on the numbers he said were frequently used by Jorez. We managed to connect those numbers to seven different frequently called burners which we can trace to seven different approximate locations as well as some other random burners. We got wire taps on _those_ burners, and get this," Miles said, pausing dramatically. "We heard Boyanov's voice."

There was a ripple of surprise throughout the room, and Ian turned to Mickey. "Who is Boyanov?" he whispered.

"Bulgarian gangster. He's supposed to be in charge of the whole operation."

"Was he saying anything incriminating?"

"He was talking about a drop off. No times or locations or anything, just vague stuff. But we're so close I can taste it," Miles said.

"Jordan," Layton cut in, "Mickey was asking me the other day about why a pimp would come to the states to ply his trade when he would be closer to legal in Europe. I decided to ask Mrs. Jorez about it. She said he was recruited. That's why the business almost seems legit. He used to operate a legal brothel in the red light district in Amsterdam. I think Boyanov wanted a foot in the door with the kind of people who go looking to buy sex and, well, _people_ , so he wanted to get involved in the sex trade in some major cities. I mean, Jorez is good at organization and running his business, but he's not great at hiding what he's up to because he's really just a businessman not a criminal. I think once Boyanov found buyers he probably let Jorez run his own show, and he won't do a thing to help him when the shit hits the fan."

"It's a good theory, but don't forget, it's only a theory. Until we know for sure, let's just assume Jorez is an associate of Boyanov. Do we know which one of Jorez's men was speaking to Boyanov?"

Miles shuffled through his files. "We think it's a low-level guy who really shouldn't be trusted with a connection like that. Sergei Furnadjiev. Runs one of the swanker brothels. He's pretty young, too. Only about thirty-five."

"I know that name," Mickey said. "You heard of him, Ian?"

Ian shook his head. "Sorry. Jorez never wanted anyone he worked with to even know I existed, so he'd hardly introduce us."

"Where do I know that name from?" Mickey said half to himself and half to the others.

No one seemed to know the answer, so they moved on.

"I suggest we have Ian leak the names and locations of the two remaining brothels we know about for sure. That way we can see what Jorez does. Hopefully he shuts them down and the people there are sent to one of the other locations, and we can follow them there."

"He said he wanted to distance himself from them. What if instead of shutting them down he just gets rid of the paper trail and then pretends he doesn't know them or something?" Ian asked.

"A lot of what we know _did_ come from busting the King Street location," Layton said. "Maybe it's better to just raid those two locations simultaneously."

Jordan shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe we're being too cautious. I even had the thought that we should tell Ian to say we'd found a connection to Boyanov. If we follow Jorez or Furnadjiev to him, we have finally found a way to connect him to organized crime and RICO charges. We have dozens of warrants for Boyanov's properties that could be served with just a whiff of probable cause and who knows what we could find if we search those places."

Mickey wasn't sure what the best thing to do was. He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew the name Sergei Furnadjiev, so finally he texted his brother to ask him.

 _This for a police investigation?_ Iggy replied.

 _You know what I do_ , Mickey said in return. _You really want to help these jerks sell kids?_

 _Used to hang out with dad. I think dad looked out for him in prison. His cousin was some big shot gangster dad was trying to impress. He always had coke,_ Iggy said.

 _Thanks Ig,_ Mickey said.

Mickey had missed a bunch of the meeting. Multitasking was not one of his strengths. He raised his eyebrows at Jordan and she asked him, "You remember?"

"I just asked Ig. He said my dad watched this Furnadjiev guy's ass in prison, and that that was probably because his cousin was some big shot gangster and that he always had coke," Mickey said.

"You think the gangster is Boyanov?"

"We got a family tree somewhere, don't we?"

Miles was up and looking through the files that were stacked high on the table by Jordan's messy whiteboard. "Fucking good eye, Mick. They're first cousins."

"So, how do we use that?"

"If this guy needed my stupid dad to watch his ass in prison, he can't be that tough, unless he had a broken leg when he went in or something. I mean, there must be something off about him. Maybe something we can use," Mickey said.

"Mickey smells weakness," Layton said in sing-song.

Mickey shrugged. "Career criminals can deal with prison without help from anyone. The fact that my dad needed to step in to suck up—or was maybe even paid to step in—that says something."

"Too bad we can't ask your dad," Miles said.

Ian scoffed. "Terry Milkovich wouldn't help the police solve his _own_ murder."

"I think Mickey's right. I mean, what if Boyanov has Jorez babysitting Furnadjiev? How can we use that?" Jordan asked.

"If he doesn't trust Furnadjiev, then the guy won't know anything. But we know that Boyanov doesn't like to surround himself with people with records. Maybe he just wanted to keep a guy he could trust around Jorez's end of the business without having a convicted felon on his own crew," Mickey said.

Jordan sighed. "Why do I feel like we know a lot more than I thought we did but I have less idea than ever what to do with it?"

"It's actually even worse, because now we know we're close to Boyanov the stakes are higher than ever before," Layton said.

There was silence, and Jordan finally spoke. "I'm not sure what to do. So, everyone come up with two ideas and we'll go over them all tomorrow."

The meeting broke up and Ian put a hand on Mickey's forearm lightly. "I'll see you at home," he said quietly.

"Okay," Mickey said. Mickey grabbed Ian and kissed him quickly on the lips, laughing at the wolf whistles from his coworkers as he pulled away. "Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up," Mickey said, rolling his eyes.

Ian was looking at him like he was astounded, and Mickey felt embarrassed by his behavior ten years ago. It pissed him off that Ian looked at him like he was a god if he showed the bare minimum of affection for him in public. He'd definitely had his reasons for hiding, no doubt about it, but he should have found a way to compromise or something.

Mickey said goodbye to Ian and forced himself to stop thinking about useless shit. You can't change the past so there's no use regretting it.

He was sure they were on to something with Furnadjiev, and he couldn't come up with his strategy without knowing more. He called Iggy and said he needed to get some coke from Sergei.

Iggy met him at Sergei's apartment building and Mickey jumped in his car to have a chat before they went in.

"So what's the story? You wearing a wire or something?" Iggy asked.

Mickey was impressed with his brother's casual acceptance that Mickey might be using him that way—and a little offended. "I wouldn't do that shit to you without your say so. I just want to scope the guy out."

"He gay or something?"

"Not that kind of scoping out. Jesus. I may be fuckin' gay but my whole life doesn't revolve around cock. Besides, I been hangin' out with Ian again," Mickey said.

Iggy kept his opinion about that to himself, shrugged, and led the way up to Furnadjiev's apartment. Mickey followed.

Iggy knocked and Sergei let him in right away. "Hey Iggy! I haven't seen you in so long!"

It was by far the most enthusiastic greeting Mickey had ever seen Iggy receive. Sergei was pretty small—about Mickey's size only not nearly as muscular. Maybe that was the reason he'd needed protection in prison? He was kind of mousy and wearing glasses. Not your normal mobster so far. Sergei invited them both in and they sat down.

"What do you need, brother?" Sergei asked.

"You still got connections? Mickey needs some coke," Iggy said.

"Sure," Sergei said. "How much?"

"Not much. Just enough to make about twenty pathetic frat boys have a good bachelor party without going totally wild," Mickey said.

"You the best man?"

"Nah. My, uh, boyfriend is," Mickey said. "His brother is getting married."

Iggy looked shocked that he'd said it, but it had been calculated. He had a vested interest in knowing if Sergei had a problem with gays.

Sergei looked a little uncomfortable, but didn't make any drastic moves. That didn't necessarily mean he would be okay with one of his close associates being gay, but he wasn't Terry Milkovich crazy with his prejudice, which was kind of a shame. That kind of blind hatred was a weakness.

Sergei nodded and got up and went to the other room. He came back with a fairly big baggie of coke and asked for a grand. Mickey produced the money and handed it over.

"It's not quite an ounce. I would give you more, but it sounds like you don't want them going crazy, so I wouldn't go higher than this."

"You should cut it with something. That shit is probably better than what we're used to," Iggy said.

Sergei nodded. He looked over at Iggy and seemed to forget Mickey was even in the room. "Igs, I gotta know. Who was your connection at the track?"

"The track?"

"You used to win so much money, man. You can't tell me you're just that lucky," Sergei said.

Iggy shrugged. "You win some you lose some. I think you must have caught me on a good week. I've probably flushed more money down the toilet gambling than I have putting it up my nose. You can't beat the house."

"That's what my cousin always says. You really don't have a connection?"

Iggy shook his head. "Nope. Just lady luck."

"Fuck," he said. He seemed more upset than the situation warranted, and Mickey wondered exactly how much he owed, and to who, and if he could use it to his advantage.


	14. Chapter 14

Ian did some research for his next blog, then started writing his script. His process was a lot more deliberate now than it had been when he'd first started and they'd just been him rambling on about movies he liked—his vlogs now followed a format he'd developed over time—and he was glad of it. It was nice to stop thinking about Jorez so much, and just follow the steps he usually took with his research, especially since he'd gotten a text from Jorez earlier that asked him to meet tomorrow and tell him whatever he could from the investigation.

By the time Mickey came home, he was ready to shoot the video, but he decided to wait until Tuesday. It felt like a waste of their time together to do something separate from Mickey when they could hang out together.

Mickey was preoccupied all through dinner and the movie they watched, though, which Ian could understand. He was working through the problem of how to get rid of all of Ian's problems and save a bunch of helpless children, though, so it's not like Ian could exactly get mad about it.

Ian wanted to be involved with the investigation, but he didn't want to hash everything out all over again and hear about it in the meeting the following day, too. "Wanna turn the movie off and go for a walk?"

Mickey looked at him like he was crazy. "I don't run unless someone's chasing me and I only walk if I'm trying to get somewhere."

"Well, tonight we're going to walk because we need to clear our heads and because we live in one of the most walkable cities in America," Ian said.

Mickey raised an eyebrow. "And you think I'm just going to do whatever you say, huh?"

"Absolutely," Ian said, smiling.

"I guess you weren't kidding about my balls being yours," Mickey sighed.

They walked through Mickey's neighborhood, and Ian asked him about the stores and restaurants around. Mickey had an interesting story to tell about most places; his perspective on the world was pretty unique, to say the least. Ian felt like he was on a date. A really good date. It was hard to believe that all this time Mickey had existed in the world and Ian hadn't been with him every second. And he'd known how good it was just talking to Mickey, but he'd stayed away.

"After all this is done, can we go out on a date?" Ian asked.

"This feels like a date, doesn't it?" Mickey asked.

"Wasn't an answer."

"I'm strolling through the neighborhood with you right now, Ian. I think the point has been made that I'll do anything for you," Mickey said.

"I'm falling in love with you," Ian said.

Mickey stopped walking and looked at Ian oddly. "Is that like a step backwards? Because I think you probably loved me already."

"I've always _loved_ you. I was in love with you as a kid. Even before we fucked I always thought you were so fucking cool, you know, when you weren't trying to beat the shit out of me or my brother. You used to say the craziest shit all the time. So fucking clever and badass. And I never stopped loving you all these years. But it's like, that feeling like drowning or falling off a cliff only to realize you're flying? I'm feeling like that again. Like you're everything and anything is possible and I can't believe any of this is real," Ian said.

"Like I matter, like I'm really here, because you see me for who I am," Mickey murmured.

"Yeah. I mean, you see me in this crazy idealized way that I can't live up to at all, but yeah. Like I'm important because you _think_ I'm important," Ian said.

"You gonna let me watch your back?"

"Yeah. I'm going to let you do whatever you can to help me. I mean, I would get the same promise from you but you had that figured out way before me. You always knew when you love someone they're you family, and family sticks together and watches each other's back," Ian said.

Mickey shrugged. "Or asks each other for their extra kidney. Shit works both ways. You're going to have to keep me from doing a lot of stupid shit, Ian. You can't just let me do the kinds of crazy shit I instinctively want to do because I'm a Milkovich."

"So you've done crazy shit while we were apart? Tell all. I need names, dates and details," Ian said.

Mickey obliged, telling him all sorts of stories about the shenanigans he and his brothers and Mandy had gotten up to. It was a relief to Ian that Mickey was still a stupid shit sometimes; it made him feel less stupid for the crazy shit he'd done over the years.

They went home and went to bed early, making love slowly and tenderly before falling asleep in each other's arms.

The plan they came up at the meeting the next day had to do with Mickey's research into Boyanov's cousin Sergei Furnadjiev. He said he'd found out the man had massive gamboling debts to the Italian mob, and because of this, it wouldn't be a stretch for anyone to believe he was informing on his cousin to the Italians. Mickey's plan was to have Ian tell Jorez that he believed Furnadjiev was informing on someone to a rival gang in exchange for being forgiven some gambling debts, and they could watch and see what chaos ensued.

"Is this really even a plan, or is it just kicking the hornet's nest?" Ian asked.

"These guys are careful operating their business day-to-day, but if we make them feel threatened, they'll go after each other. If they're worried about each other, they'll forget to worry about us," Miles said.

"And if they attack this Furnadjiev guy, we've got them for that, and when we investigate them for going after him, we can get them on everything else," Jordan said.

They decided the easiest way to leak the information would be for Jordan to fake surveillance notes and have Ian take a picture of them with his phone. There would be just enough information there to tip Jorez off. He'd also show the picture of the deeds still in code so that Jorez would know what they had from the office but not know they had already decoded it. Ian was eager to get the meeting over with, but it turned out that they needed more time to get things ready. They would have to borrow police from other units to watch all the people they needed to effectively, and they needed a couple of days to set that up.

The meeting broke up and Ian was instructed to text that he had some info but he wanted to share it in person, and he couldn't get away for a few days. The hope was that Jorez would be placated and wouldn't start threatening Ian's family again. He sent the text and got a short, _Let me know when you can get away_ , in return.

Ian imagined from his terse reply that Jorez had already found a replacement fuck, and felt a little weird about that. He should be happy Jorez was probably moving on. He _was_. But it was weird because the guy had been his boyfriend for years. Was still, technically, his boyfriend, even though Ian was certain he'd fucked his wife and numerous other guys while they'd been together. It wasn't like they'd had an open relationship, though, and Ian had been more faithful to Phil than he'd ever been to anyone before, because Phil had basically held him prisoner and threatened to kill anyone he fucked. So yeah, it was weird, thinking Phil was going to let him go just because he thought Mickey was a cop.

It was weird to think it was over.

Ian couldn't help but grin when he thought that in a couple of days Jorez would either be in jail or deported, and he realized what that feeling had been when he had realized Phil was probably fucking some new guy. It hadn't been _jealousy_. He'd been pissed off, because he didn't want Phil balls-deep in some hot guy, he wanted Phil to _suffer_. And Ian was going to dispense some Gallagher-style justice, or maybe even Milkovich-style justice, to show him that you don't mess with Ian Gallagher and just walk away.

"What are you smiling about?" Mickey asked.

"Just can't fucking wait to see Phil suffer," Ian said.

Ian imagined his grin had turned kind of feral, because Mickey looked at him in that cheeky way he'd always looked at him when they were kids when they were doing something _bad_ , and said, "Oh yeah, tough guy? Maybe I can kick him in the nuts or something after we destroy the fucker's life," Mickey said.

"You can't kick every guy who ever hurts me in the nuts, Mickey," Ian said.

"I've kicked a lot of guys in the nuts for you, though," Mickey said.

"Yeah, but was that for me or because you like to kick the shit out of people?" Ian asked.

Mickey smiled and didn't answer, and Ian noticed Miles was looking at the two of them. "You're not telling me that little shrimp really terrorized the neighborhood like he says he did?"

"When he was a teenager he beat the shit out of grown men all the time," Ian said. "And kids his own age…jocks, criminal-types, my ROTC buddies…"

"Hey, I had a reason for that shit," Mickey said.

"Sometimes," Ian said.

"Name one time I beat someone up without a reason," Mickey said.

"I don't know, always? You beat up Ned because he called you my boyfriend when you _were my boyfriend_. And what about that time you beat Lip up because you couldn't find me to kick the shit out of me?"

"Yeah, but he's got that smart mouth," Mickey said.

Ian rolled his eyes but he inwardly agreed.

"Why would you beat up Ian? Isn't that like boyfriend abuse or something?"

"Shit, Mickey and I used to beat the shit out of each other all the time. Sometimes because we were mad, but sometimes just for fun. We were pretty rough kids," Ian said. He looked at Mickey. "I don't know how Mickey feels about it, but my relationship with him was the only time I ever felt like my partner's equal despite that. I have a bad habit of hanging out with guys who treat me like shit. Mickey was my best friend, and he treated me like he respected me."

"You've got terrible taste in men," Mickey agreed.

"Yeah, especially since you started going out with this shithead," Miles said.

Mickey laughed and walked Ian out to the bus stop. "What are you going to do for the rest of the day?" he asked.

"I think I'm going to go see Lip," Ian said. "I miss that smart-mouth of his. I don't know what he's going to say about all of this."

"What about Jorez? I thought you were worried he'd hear about it if you saw your family?"

"I'll take the L, meet Lip somewhere…I just need to see him, you know?"

"Hey, I _want_ you to see Lip. I ain't trying to discourage you from seeing him," Mickey said.

"See you at home?" Ian asked.

They kissed goodbye briefly and Ian texted Lip, asking him to meet up in the next hour. They decided on a place and made the trip on the L, which would make it nearly impossible for someone to follow in a car or even on foot. Ian found himself on the point of tears when he saw his brother waiting for him. He grabbed him and held on tight, and Lip held on just as tight, for once losing his air of indifference.

"You're a piece of shit, Ian. I should kick the shit out of you. Did Mickey kick the shit out of you, at least?"

"Not yet, but you know us. There's still time," he said.

He brought his brother up to speed on everything that had happened, both in the last week and in the previous ten years. Lip looked furious, and Ian was relieved that he had transferred some of his anger against Ian to Jorez.

"So Mickey came in and rescued you and suddenly the two of you are together?" Lip asked.

Ian shrugged. "You know how it is with us. We just sort of…get drawn together. Like magnets."

"You know you have control over your own life. You don't have to fuck Mickey just because you're in this situation with him. You don't have to be a magnet."

"I want to. I love him," Ian said.

"Do you? Or is it just he reminds you of the guy you were before everything went wrong? Ian, you can stay with me. You don't have to be his fucking live-in mistress again just because he stuck his neck out for you," Lip said.

"Fuck off. It's Mickey. You know how much he cares about me," Ian said.

"Yeah, I do. And I know you walked away from that without looking back once before. So what the fuck is different now? You grateful to him, or do you really love him?"

"I remember this one night…before I got tangled up with Jorez. I was sitting in this flophouse, waiting for some trick to text me so I could get the money to eat. I thought to myself, Mickey would take you back right now, and he'd treat you just as well as he always did. I knew he wouldn't treat me like a whore, and he wouldn't make be crawl around and beg forgiveness for everything I put him through. It was really tempting. Do you know what it's like to have someone so completely that you can leave them and break their heart and cheat on them and be a terrible person, and you know they'll love you anyway?"

Lip nodded. Oh yeah, Ian realized. Although Lip had married someone else, he'd been with Mandy. Of course he knew.

Ian sighed. "I wanted to go back to him so badly, but I thought _I_ wasn't worth it. I thought it would be cruel to him to go back. That I'd ruin him or something. I was so fucked up, Lip, I thought the same about all of you. By the time I got on my pills and into therapy and realized that was just like, negative self-talk, I was already under Jorez's thumb."

"How's that going?"

"I think the pills are starting to kick in. I'm not in denial anymore, and I'll do anything to get help. I've promised Mickey I'll ask him for help if I need it, and I'm hoping I can depend on you to help out if I ever need it."

"Yes, of course. I'll go to support groups, I'll pay for medical bills, doctors, whatever…I'll fly you to the foremost bipolar doctor in the country if that's what you want. I'll be your emergency contact. Anything I can do to help."

"Thanks," Ian said. He only wished he'd asked for help earlier.


	15. Chapter 15

Ian came back from his meeting with Lip in a really great mood. Not manic, but just genuinely happy to have seen his brother again. He talked Mickey's ear off about all the things that Mickey already knew Lip had been up to for the last ten years, but Mickey just smiled tolerantly at him and listened until something caught his attention.

"What did you just say?"

"Oh, just Lip said I could move in with him so I was thinking I might."

"Is that what you want?"

"I…um…I guess."

Mickey looked at Ian in confusion. What the fuck had happened? Yesterday Ian had said he was falling in love with Mickey, and now he wanted to go? But then, normal relationships follow certain patterns, right? So maybe he just wanted to take things slow, date a while before they moved in together and all that shit.

"No, don't fucking guess, Gallagher. What do you want? I don't want to keep you here against your will, but I don't want you to go. You can't leave until after the shit with Jorez is cleared up, but if you want to move out afterward…I mean, would you still want be my boyfriend?"

"I don't know. I mean, yes. I mean, why do you even want me?"

"The fuck you talkin' about?"

"You don't have to rescue me like a puppy in the pound or something. It's okay if you just want to forget this whole thing. Maybe we got carried away. I can take care of myself. I mean, Lip can help me, you know?"

"Fucking—what the fuck did Lip say to you? A couple of days ago we were talking about buying a house together one day. It's okay if you're having second thoughts, man. Or if we're just going too fast for you. But don't put this shit on me and act like it's my idea."

"No. Shit. I'm pissing you off. I just meant…Shit. It's something Lip said. He said that just because we were in a fucked up situation together didn't mean we had to _be_ together. I told him I loved you and I wanted to be with you. But then on the train I was thinking that maybe you felt trapped. Like obligated or whatever. Because I was so fucking pathetic and I had nowhere to go, and then we just fell back into old patterns. But I have somewhere to go now."

"So you want to go?"

"No?"

"What?" Mickey said.

He wondered if Ian's second thoughts were a symptom of bipolar, like paranoia all twisted around or something, negative-self talk, like Ian had mentioned before, but he didn't want to say anything. Didn't want to undermine Ian's confidence when it was already so low—ask him if he was being crazy right now. That felt cruel. But he was having trouble following Ian's logic and he knew part of the reason was that thinking about Ian leaving him hurt like hell. Hadn't this been the reason he'd hesitated to get involved with Ian again? Because he thought Ian might feel obligated or trapped into fucking and Mickey would get his hopes up and lose him all over again?

Finally Mickey sighed. "Look, maybe we _should_ talk about you moving in with Lip after all of this. I guess maybe we got carried away. But you don't really want break up, do you? Shit, Ian. If you didn't want me to begin with, if you were just…did I take advantage of you?"

"Fuck you!" Ian said.

Now Mickey was really confused. "What?"

"You think I'm too crazy to know my own mind? What the fuck? I fucking love you!" Ian shouted, shoving Mickey in the chest.

Mickey shoved him back. "Then why the fuck does it sound like you're trying to leave me again?" he shouted back.

"I don't—fuck! I don't even know! Is this what you want, Mick? A boyfriend who can't even be normal for two fucking days in a row? A boyfriend who's too fucking pathetic to get away from a fucking asshole I should have stomped a long time ago? A boyfriend who'd let one conversation with his brother completely undermine his confidence?"

Mickey shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Sounds like a dipshit. But yeah, if that guy is you, then he's the one I want."

"Is this the bipolar?"

"I think…I mean, I don't know. But I think it's because of surviving abuse," Mickey said, his voice quiet. He'd thought Ian was about to throw-down, and he was actually surprised that now they seemed to be back to a conversation. He found his cigarettes and lit one, took a drag, and offered it to Ian. Ian took a drag and offered it back. "You know, that shit you were saying, it sounds like how I used to feel. When my dad used to say shit to me, I would hear everyone saying it. Like, he'd tell me I was a stupid shit, and then at school some teacher would say I was a good writer and I'd think she was making fun of me and really telling me I was a stupid shit. But she was just saying she liked my paragraph."

Ian laughed hollowly. "Just what I need. More mental health problems."

"You've been doing great. You know, surprisingly great. You haven't even broken up with Jorez yet. I mean, they say it takes half the total length of your relationship to get over it. So however long you were with Jorez…it was years, right? So you shouldn't beat yourself up for not being over him in a week, even if you weren't _happy_ to be with him in the first place."

"So wait, if you were with someone for twenty years it's supposed to take ten years to get over them? That is depressing for middle-aged people who get divorced."

"It's probably just bullshit. I mean, if it were true I would have gotten over you by now, right?"

"Why didn't you?"

Ian was looking down at him, his eyes intense. Mickey didn't have an answer. "Did you get over me?"

"I missed you every day, Mick. I thought leaving was what was best for you. Like I was contaminating you. I thought about how it felt when my mother came back and whirlwind Monica tore shit up, and how we were all so relieved when she left, even though we loved her. Well, I loved you, and I didn't want you to feel that way."

"But you were just kids. And she was your mom. You didn't have a choice in the matter. I chose you. I chose you every time. I chose you over my dad, my kid, my fuckin' safety walking down the street…you didn't get to make that choice for me."

"I shouldn't have broken up with you. I knew it almost right away, but I couldn't feel anything. And then when I could feel…in the low cycles I thought I deserved to feel bad because I'd hurt you and left my family, and in my high cycles I could trick myself into thinking I didn't care about who I hurt. Shit. Why are we even talking about this? It's fucking depressing."

"Did you eat?"

"No. I'll make some pasta. Why don't you get a beer and sit down or something?"

Mickey agreed, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and hugged Ian lightly on his way by with his free arm. "Remember our cooling-off period? You can't make a decision right now. Wait a week."

"You either," Ian said.

Mickey grabbed on tighter. "I told you that I want you. My family is the most important thing in my life. But you, Ian…you're the only thing in life I've ever wanted for myself in my whole life. The only dream I had that ever came true. And the reality was so much fucking sweeter than the dream. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don't want this to ever end."

Ian nodded and shook Mickey off to turn to get some ingredients from the cupboard. Mickey sighed and went to the sofa, sitting down heavily and hoping Ian would hear Mickey's words for what they were, and not let whatever evil shit Phil Jorez had been telling him twist that shit around.

When the pasta was ready Ian came and put a bowl in front of Mickey on the coffee table, and dug into his own. They ate for a while and Ian knocked Mickey's shoulder with his own. "I thought I was the only one."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, the only one who wanted this for good. I know you said you did, but somehow I didn't believe it."

"Why did you go along with it when I said stuff? Talk about buying a house and all that shit. You think I was just talking outta my ass? Were you just talking shit?"

"Not…talking shit, exactly. Just…kind of like…dreaming out loud, I guess. I never thought we could really have that. Can we really have that?"

"Why the fuck not?" Mickey asked.

Ian glared at him, and Mickey threw his head back and looked at the ceiling.

"I'm not being a dick, Ian. I'm serious. Why the fuck can't we be happy? It's not like we're asking a lot here. Just a house and some kids we love and our families and each other. You know how many people have that shit and take it for granted? Throw it away? Why can't we have it if we want it?"

Ian laughed. "Is it that easy?"

"Well, as soon as we make sure your family's safe, take down an international human trafficking ring, get rid of your psycho boyfriend, and get your bipolar in line," Mickey joked.

"Well, after we do all that shit, accepting that we're allowed to forgive ourselves and each other and just be happy together does sound kind of easy," Ian said.

"Easy peasy lemon fuckin' squeezy," Mickey said.

That night Yev called at midnight. "Dad?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"Yeah kid? What's wrong? You have a bad dream?"

"No," he said, his voice hesitant. Mickey was pretty sure he had had a bad dream, but, surprise surprise, a Milkovich was too macho to admit it, even if he was a sweet, shy little thing.

"How was school today? You learn anything cool?"

Yev's voice relaxed and he talked about the solar system for a while. Finally, Yev said, "Is Ian going to be there next time we get together?"

"You want him to be?"

Yev was silent, and Mickey sighed. "He'll be around. I want him to be around. I hope he'll always be a part of our family. What did you think of him?"

"I like him. He fits. He doesn't push with Inga and he's cool to hang out with," Yev said.

"That's a good way to put it. He fits. He used to be good friends with your mom. I hope they can get back to that one day, although I don't think she's there yet. How's Inga doing?"

"She woke up screaming tonight. Bad. It took mom hours to calm her down. I couldn't get back to sleep."

"You know what set her off?"

"No idea. She's okay though. She's going to be fine," Yev said.

"I know, buddy."

"Can I bring her the phone? She likes talking to you."

"If she wants to. Whatever."

Mickey had a short conversation about school or some shit with Inga, and then the girl passed the phone over to her sister.

"That girl's in therapy, right?" Mickey asked.

"Just because your boyfriend's crazy doesn't mean everyone needs therapy," she said.

"You don't think it would help her?"

"Of course it would help her! I can't afford it. I'm raising two kids."

"What about your health insurance through your job?"

"Doesn't cover sister," Svetlana said.

"That ain't fuckin' right, Svet. Let me read through your contract. You're her legal guardian and she's your dependant. That means she should get benefits whether she's your sister or your kid."

"Boss told me," she said.

"He's probably fuckin' lying to you. I'm gonna read your contract, and I'm going to ask Jordan who she refers people who are rescued from the sort of situation she was in to. Maybe the doc'll even see her for free."

"She doesn't need a doctor. She's fine. I was fine, she'll be fine," she said.

"Come on. You ever scream half the night years after you stopped hookin'? You're tough as nails, hun, but your sister's just a kid. Come on, let me fuckin' help for once," Mickey said.

"You always help. I thank God every day that you were the piece of shit I was forced to marry," Svetlana said.

"You know, it could have been a lot worse, for both of us," Mickey said. "So Imma talk to Jordan?"

Svetlana sighed. "She gave me the name of a doctor years ago. I took Inga twice but it only seemed to make her worse. Maybe it would be different now. I think I lost the number."

"Take her. Please."

"I'll bring the contract this weekend. And I'll take her wherever you think is best," Svetlana said.

When he hung up his phone, Ian pulled him close. "Papa bear," he mumbled.

"What the fuck?" Mickey laughed.

"You're such a good dad. Maybe one day we can have a kid together," Ian said before pulling Mickey even tighter and drifting immediately to sleep.

It took Mickey considerably longer to sleep. Of course Ian would want to have a baby, since he'd missed Yev's first ten years and he liked kids way more than Mickey did. Mickey wasn't sure he wanted to start all over with a baby with two kids pretty much entering their teen years. He hadn't missed Yev's baby years, his terrible twos, and all the stress and worry when he'd been sick with every shitty virus going, and when he'd started school and it had looked like he had learning problems for a while. He wasn't sure he wanted to sign up for that all over again.

Shit, he hadn't actually signed up for it the first time. Or the second. And it had turned out alright—better than alright. Maybe they _could_ have a kid together, although Mickey wouldn't agree to it for a long time.


	16. Chapter 16

Ian crashed the next day. All the changes, the stress and everything...it just seemed come at him all at once. His thoughts were swirling in his head, and his limbs were so heavy he couldn't make them move to get up out of bed in the morning.

Mickey brushed the hair back from Ian's forehead and murmured some nice things, and Ian wanted to smile and show him how grateful he was that Mickey was there, but it was too much of an effort. He took the pills Mickey was holding out for him and swallowed them.

"Ian? Are you hearing me Ian?" Mickey was saying.

"I'm here."

"You…you think I should tell Jordan you won't be able to do the thing with Jorez?"

"Cover for me for today. I'll get up tomorrow," he said, expending a huge amount of effort.

"You've been on the pills for like, nine days. You think…I mean, I know they don't fully take effect for like, two weeks. You think they'll make this less severe?"

 _Yeah, that's why I said I'll be up tomorrow_ , Ian tried to say. Eventually he managed a sullen nod, hating himself because he couldn't just power through it somehow. He'd always thought that if you tried, and you worked hard, you could do anything, and it was frustrating that it didn't work for depression, or his disorder in general.

Mickey rubbed his back for a few minutes, still talking quietly. Ian closed his eyes, not sure whether what Mickey was doing was annoying or amazing. Ian heard Mickey talking to someone on the phone and he'd thought it was Jordan, but then Mickey was gone and Fiona was there, lying next to him. He tried to be excited, but mostly he was just sorry this was the way she'd first seen him after all these years.

After a while, he was able to focus on the stories she was telling him about their family and what they'd been up to the last ten years. He turned so he was facing her and told her some things about his life, too—just the stories that wouldn't make him any sadder.

The bust was set for Saturday night, because they wanted to catch some clients at the brothels, scare them straight, and Ian had told them Saturday was usually the busiest night. He was feeling better by the time Mickey came home and Fiona left, and he knew he had several days before Saturday to make sure he was up to meeting Jorez. In the meantime, he texted Jorez to say he was low. He knew all about Ian's moods and it was a good excuse for the delay.

Mickey treated him the same as ever when he got up, but Ian knew he must be shitting himself worrying that he wasn't up to doing his part of the bust, so he made sure to put his best effort forward for the next few days. He got up and got dressed when Mickey did, but he spent more time sleeping than he let Mickey know. He went to his therapist—the same one he'd seen before he'd gotten back with Jorez. She was happy to hear he'd connected with his family and his best friend and lover, and she encouraged him to keep his exercise routine going as much as possible, so he did that, and near the end of the week, he finally shot his vlog.

He hadn't been late posting in a while, and he really should have posted one immediately after the boost from Lip's twitter stunt to take advantage of it, but he reasoned that he'd had a lot going on. To his surprise, the comments filled up almost immediately and his numbers of views were almost as high as they'd been for the video Lip had tweeted about. When he looked at his account, he couldn't believe how well he was doing.

Mickey wasn't pushing him or demanding he prove he was better, but he asked Ian if he was okay to go to the meet the next day on Friday.

"I'm fine. Maybe a little, you know, off, but you know how long a depressive episode used to put me out of commission. The meds still work the way they were working before," Ian said. "And I'll been following my exercise regimen even when I don't want to. That always helps."

"Yeah. I should work out with you sometimes. I always liked it. You were always like, highly motivating and encouraging. I think the first time I ever felt like someone was ever proud of me was when you said I did good when we were working out. And I got to stare at your muscles without looking gay," Mickey said.

"Mickey, you used to look at my muscles like you wanted to lick them. Actually more like you wanted to bite them. I think you came off as kind of really gay," Ian laughed.

"I _did_ want to lick them. All that perfect pale skin on that sculpted body? You looked like a marble god. I mean, I'm pale, too, but I just look dead," Mickey said.

"You make a good-looking corpse," Ian agreed.

They laughed and joked for a while, and Mickey kissed him tentatively. They hadn't even fooled around since Ian had felt so low—it usually took him a while to feel up to that kind of thing and Mickey obviously remembered that from before. They made out and jerked each other off in bed, breathing each other's air and whispering how hot it was to be together that way again.

"You remember a lot, huh?" Ian asked.

"What do you mean?" Mickey asked.

"I was out of it for a lot of that time we spent together, before the MPs came for me. You know a lot about…how to treat me so I feel better. I guess I was so out of it, I didn't realize you were right there with me the whole time. I was a shitty boyfriend," Ian said.

"You were seventeen. Let it go. Teenagers fuck up. Part of growing up, you know? I just wish I'd made you see that you were safe making mistakes with me—that I wouldn't hate you for them and you didn't have to leave."

"I can—and probably will—regret breaking up with you and taking off for as long as I live, but who's to say that if we'd stayed together we'd still be together now? We both went through all this shit that brought us together. Maybe if we'd already been together, it would have torn us apart instead," Ian said.

"Well, I'd say I wouldn't change anything that led to this moment, but I wish you'd been safe and happy the whole time we were apart. But then, I'm probably thinking the worst. I mean, I had some amazing times growing up with my dad, and he was a fucking monster. Even with Jorez or working as a hustler, it can't have all been bad. You must have had some crazy times," Mickey said.

Ian felt a little funny talking about some of his more exciting dates and parties as a young, wild hustler on the streets of Chicago, but Mickey listened as avidly to those stories as Ian had to hearing about Mickey and his brothers' crazy adventures. And framing it that way, thinking about the fact that all the bad shit had led to where they were right now, and how even when he'd gone through rough times he hadn't always be victimized or unhappy, helped him deal with his long-ago decision to leave everyone he cared about.

They slept nestled in each other's arms, and in the morning it was time for Ian to 'go for a run' and meet Jorez. He wasn't nervous this time. He wanted to meet him because he wanted him to pay, and he knew how to work the guy after all this time. He realized, too, that Mickey had been right about Jorez keeping him off his meds to make him vulnerable. Now his meds had really kicked in, he felt more confident dealing with Jorez than he had in a long time.

The park was a lot fuller this time than it had been the first time they'd met, and Jorez pulled away when Ian leaned in to kiss him. Ian was relieved, but schooled his face to look annoyed. "What, did you bring your wife and kids or something?" he asked. "They over there on the monkey bars?"

"There's just a lot of people here. I don't want any of my business associates to see us," he said. "I know you don't like to hide, but if anyone finds out about us it could get us both killed."

Ian opened up his backpack and took out his iPad mini. "I took pictures of some stuff I found on Mickey's desk, and then he took me to the police station a couple of days this week and I got some pictures of his boss' desk."

"Jordan Marks? She's an evil cunt," Jorez said. "Why didn't you just take pictures with your phone?"

"I'm not the best with this technology shit. I know you can get an app that hides files, but I figure Mickey probably knows it."

"So he's been looking at your phone?"

"All he saw was our text messages back and forth, and he deleted all the pictures of you and me. He made me swear I wouldn't meet you again. I walked in the room and he started yelling at me and I started yelling at him. He should have had Jordan arrest me, but he didn't. I guess I'm already under his skin."

"Doesn't sound like he's going to get sick of you anytime soon, although that might change if he realizes you've been using him to get information on a police investigation."

"Are you kidding? The guy's obsessed with me. Anyway, I figure you can just take the mini. You got me the new model, anyway. You can either look at the evidence on it or send it to yourself when you get to some wifi."

"Thanks, babe." He put his head down and started scrolling through. "Shit. That little cokehead shit said he'd destroyed those papers. He was supposed to read them and destroy them. That's why he had the stupid app on his phone! What a fucking moron!"

Ian knew he must be referring to the coded messages about the brothels. "Yeah, what the fuck language was that in, Kryptonian?"

"This isn't fucking…this isn't fun and games, Ian. What the fuck?"

"Mickey had those things already, Phil. I didn't give them to him," Ian said. He shrugged and looked sullen. "None of this is my fault."

"I know. I'm sorry. We all don't have a high school boyfriend to smooth over every bad thing we've done with the cops," Phil said.

"Can't you just go back to England?"

"Can't go back there. I changed my name and went to Amsterdam, and then I was stupid enough to get involved with—never mind. It doesn't matter now. What's done is done. Wait, is this the stuff you said you took pictures of from Marks' desk?"

"Yeah, that was some great spy shit, right? Pretend to be reading and then snap shots of secret documents? I mean, sure, yeah, no one else was in the room at the time, but it was pretty neat. I'd do it again if you asked. You want me to keep spying?"

"I don't know. If I'm understanding this shorthand right, this could be very bad. I've got to call—Ian, sorry, we've got to cut this short. I promise, next time you'll get a few hours away from your keeper and I'll spring for a hotel, okay?"

"Okay," Ian said.

He jogged away, happy he hadn't even had to kiss the guy this time. He wished he'd been able to officially break up with him, but he knew it would be soon. And anyway, how 'together' could they possibly be when one of them was married and the other was living with someone else? Even though neither of them had said the words and they'd made some vague future plans, the breakup had kind of been implied.

As he ran, he mentally reviewed what Jorez had said. He'd talked about not being able to go back to England. Ian thought Mickey must be right. Maybe Jorez had pissed off some English gangsters, or maybe he'd had a run-in with the law. And probably all they needed to find out what he was hiding was his real name.

And his wife probably knew that.

He told Mickey was he was thinking, and they contacted her and asked her Jorez's real name. She was surprised they knew his name was false, but gave Mickey his real name. When they looked it up, Ian was really surprised by what he found.

"Phil killed his stepfather and then jumped bail right before the trial," he read from the news archives website.

"Wow. He must have been guilty if he ran," Mickey said. "It looks like he came from a middle-class family so it's not like he couldn't have afforded a lawyer to prove his innocence."

"Yep. But shit. He might have been nearly finished his sentence if he'd just stayed there and faced the consequences. And I imagine British prisons are probably a lot nicer than American ones. Now he's in for a world of shit," Ian said.

"And it's gonna be fucking awesome to shovel that shit all over him, ain't it?" Mickey said, grinning.

"So no matter what happens with the investigation, he's going to be sent back to England to face trial—even if he rolls on Boyanov?" Ian asked.

"Don't worry. There's no way he gets away clean. Jordan wouldn't let that happen," Mickey said.


	17. Chapter 17

Mickey wasn't sure if he was more bored or keyed up. A stakeout was usually a weird combination of low-grade tension and deadly tedium, but because they were waiting for Furnadjiev to potentially get murdered, it was a bit more serious than a stakeout usually was.

And although their work was important and Mickey sincerely cared about the children they rescued, this shit was personal. He needed to get Boyanov behind bars or maybe even killed to be able to tell his kid that she was safe—and he needed to make sure Boyanov's henchman fuckin' Phil Jorez went down _forever_ to keep Ian and his family safe.

If Jorez didn't go down, Mickey knew he'd kill the man himself, cut him up, and bury the pieces somewhere no one would ever find them. Other than how to survive in jail, how to dispose of a body was the only useful thing his father had ever taught him.

"Someone's on the move," came a voice from the walkie.

"Who was that, Richards?" Mickey asked.

"Com, fucking identify yourself," Jordan said, her voice terse.

"Fuck, Richards here, East corner. Someone—looks like Boyanov—is on the move," the voice said.

"Fuck, what if we catch him in the act killing his nephew?" Jordan asked Mickey, her eyes glittering in the darkness.

"Calm your tits, Jordan," Mickey said. "He might just be going to Duncan Donuts or some shit."

"Get the camera out just in case," Jordan said.

Mickey reached into the backseat. They'd been given the task of watching the outside of Furnadjiev's house. The really good vantage point was through Furnadjiev's window from a building across the street, and Jordan made a quick call to Layton to look alive. Jordan got the camera equipment primed and they waited. Boyanov's office was about twenty minutes away, so they waited for a while.

"How's Ian? He glad this is going to be over soon?"

"What do you think?" Mickey asked.

"You guys decide anything? Like, what you want to do in the future?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is Ian staying? He move in permanently?"

"We've been talking about buying another place. One where both the kids can have their own room and Ian can have a studio to record his vlog," Mickey said.

"Wow. That's serious," Jordan said.

"Serious as a heart attack," Mickey confirmed.

"Hopefully less painful, though," Jordan said.

"It was pretty fucking painful last time," Mickey said. "He's promised he's not going to run off again, no matter what. I guess time will tell if trusting him again was a smart thing to do or not."

"You can't like…play it cool? Be cautious? Protect yourself a little?"

Mickey shook his head. "What's the point of holding back? I learned a long time ago that life is only worth living if you're all in. Just fucking go for it. Do what you want. Be free. Knowing that you lost what you wanted because someone else fucked up is better than losing it because you're a coward."

"If I had some dude I was waffling about asking out, that speech would have totally decided me. Unfortunately, all the guys I know are—"

"Car approaching from the East," came Layton's voice over the radio.

"You got the lens cap offa that shit?" Mickey asked.

"Fuck you," Jordan said, but she tilted the camera to check just in case. She looked through the viewfinder and took some pictures of the car. Mickey knew the procedure; she was taking pictures of the car driving up, making sure to get a good view of the license plate, and then of Boyanov as he got out of the car and walked up the stairs to Furnadjiev's apartment. "Eyes on Boyanov. Who would've thought?" Jordan asked.

"Okay, it looks like there's fighting. Shit, shit, that's blood splatter on the window. I think he shot him!"

"Mickey and I are on it. Miles, bring your team up the back and Philips, make sure he doesn't take the fire escape," Jordan said.

They were running up the stairs two at a time, drawing their weapons as soon as they got to Furnadjiev's floor. Jordan didn't wait for the other team, pounding on the door. "Police! Open up!" she said.

"I'm unarmed," a calm, accented voice said.

"Open the door, sir," Jordan said.

The door opened with an eerie creak, and something made Mickey jump behind the wall out of sight. Jordan saw him jump back and she jumped back, too, but she was a few seconds behind him and caught a bullet in the shoulder. She crouched down. She asked him something but all he could hear was ringing from the gunshot.

Mickey blinked away the cloud of plaster-dust from the doorjamb that was exploding in a hail of bullets. He rubbed at his eyes, and raised his gun when the shots stopped, assuming the guy had to reload. He turned around the corner and saw Boyanov, the gangster's face red and his expression deadly.

Mickey shot the man twice, dead centre in the chest, going for the centre of mass.

Easiest shot for an amateur—biggest target, most vital organs. It was the shot most likely to take a man down, and it did. Mickey stared at the prone body. He had never thought he would really kill anyone, even though he'd threatened it enough times. The ringing in his ears receded and he realized that Jordan was talking to him.

"He down?" she was saying.

"He's down but I'm not sure he's out."

"Go in and see if he's dead. Check Furnadjiev. If he's not dead he might testify," Jordan said.

Mickey was about to snap at her to do it herself, and then saw she'd fainted. It didn't look like she'd lost a lot of blood, so he assumed she'd just fainted because of the pain. He picked up the walkie she was carrying. "Jordan, Furnadjiev, and Boyanov have all been shot. We need multiple ambulances. I repeat a police officer was shot and we need an ambulance and a medic," Mickey said.

There were codes he was supposed to say but he didn't know them right now. He knew Layton would relay the message to dispatch. He wasn't sure whether he should follow Jordan's orders or give her first aid. He pulled her slightly out of the view of the door and put pressure on her wound, reasoning that if she bleed out none of the rest would matter, at least not to him.

It turned out to be the right decision, because Furnadjiev was dead, and Boyanov was unconscious and in need of serious surgery if he was going to survive at all. He was taken away in an ambulance seconds after Jordan sped off in hers. The attendant said the bullet had probably hit the bone, which was painful, but probably not serious.

Layton was second in command, so Mickey joined him where he was standing barking orders outside the building. He was preparing to go serve the warrants on Boyanov's property that were dependant on proof of criminal activity. Nothing said criminal activity like shooting someone right in front of police surveillance—and come to think of it, why the fuck had Boyanov come after Furnadjiev when the only reason he thought the guy was betraying him was because of leaked surveillance info? He should have known better than to kill someone he knew the police were watching. He should have sent someone he wanted arrested to kill Furnadjiev.

"Why the fuck did come after this guy? He knew the police were watching him," Mickey asked.

"Even the smartest criminal in the world is stupider than most legitimate business men," Layton said. "If they were smart they wouldn't be criminals."

Mickey rolled his eyes, knowing this was more a dig against Mickey than an honest observation. Most criminals really were stupid, only this dude had been evading capture for a lot of years. He knew better than to kill someone he knew the cops were watching.

"No, man, seriously. Why would he do this shit?"

Layton shrugged. "What would your criminal buddies do if they thought someone they trusted was betraying them? If he thought he was dead or headed to prison anyway because of what the little shit had told someone? He probably thought if the police knew he'd inform on his cousin to other gangsters, we'd use that info to get him to inform to us. Boyanov just wanted to get his street cred and let everyone know if you betray him, you die. Bullshit macho posturing, and it got him shot and took down his entire organization."

"I guess so," Mickey said.

"You wanna come with me to serve these warrants or are you going to get me shot, too, if you come with?"

"I'll have you know I saved Jordan's life," Mickey said. "But if it's all the same, I'd rather go check on her in the hospital than serve warrants. And I'm not a hundred percent on police procedure, but if you've already shot someone today, you supposed to just go on with your duty? Don't you gotta file some paperwork or some shit?"

"Yeah, but you're a consultant, not a cop. You sure you don't want in on this? We're hitting brothels. We might find another long-lost-love of yours. Or another relative," Layton asked.

Normally Mickey would tell him to fuck off for something like that, but he was in a good mood. "There's only one Ian Gallagher, and I already got him," he grinned. Layton pretended to gag and Mickey checked Jordan's car and found that she had left the keys inside. "You make sure that dick Jorez gets taken down, you hear?"

"Pick Ian up on the way to the hospital. I don't want him getting caught up in this," Layton said.

Mickey nodded, appreciating that Layton wasn't always a piece of shit, and drove as fast as he could (and that was pretty fucking fast with a siren on his car) to his apartment. He ran passed the officer that was stationed outside and found Ian watching TV, looking anxious.

"Hey, come to the hospital with me? Jordan got shot. It's not serious, but I want to be with her and I don't want you and me to be separated right now," Mickey said.

"Works for me," Ian said.

When they were within a foot of each other they hugged quickly and firmly, and then they ran to the car. "Follow us to the hospital, aight?" he told the patrolman.

The guy nodded and got into the car. "What happened?" Ian asked.

Mickey caught him up on everything he'd missed, and Ian grabbed his hand. "So other than Jordan getting shot, everything is going well?"

"Yep. As soon as the warrants are served the whole operation, including Jorez, should be behind bars."

"What about Phil's wife?"

"His wife and kids will be protected. She made a deal with me. We'll hold up our end," Mickey said.

"I guess that's a good thing, right? I don't think she's exactly the mastermind or anything. But if she was letting her husband profit off of human trafficking—"

"Most of them'll make deals. You can't worry too much about it. The important thing is that the supply of human sex slaves will be disrupted for a while. That's a good thing. And some kids will be rescued. There might be a lot of people who have a new chance at life because of this. And the bitch won't get to keep the profits of her husband's crimes.," Mickey said.

"What kind of life would they have after what they've been through?" Ian asked.

"You'd be surprised. Humans can get over almost anything. Life's not over until they put you in the ground, you know? We're resilient fucks," Mickey said.

"Is that why you're not worried about falling in love with a mentally ill former drug addict who, oh yeah, also used to be a prostitute?" Ian asked.

"I know you," Mickey said. "You're tough. And you're stubborn. If you decide to be healthy and stable and to be with me, I know you can do it, no matter what the setbacks are."

"I will have setbacks," Ian said. "I can almost guarantee it. And if you're with me, they'll affect both of us. Maybe it'll even be as bad as it was ten years ago again. I'll do my best to be good for you, but it might still be hard."

"I don't mind hard. What I can't deal with is you leaving again."

"I won't. I promise," Ian said.

"Fuckin' better not," Mickey said. "I'm a dumb shit, too. You remember that, right? I always piss you off. Like always. I think I pissed you off more than I ever pissed anyone off before, and I actually went around antagonising people for fun."

"Yeah, but that was because I knew you could be brave and wonderful and perfect and you didn't know that about yourself. And then I hassled you so much that you became that guy and then I couldn't believe how amazing you were. And I kind of convinced myself that since you came out and stood up to your dad and admitted that you had feelings for me and became that amazing guy—I guess I figured suddenly you were way too good for me.

"That was a stupid fucking thing to do," Mickey said.

"A wise man once told me seventeen year-olds are supposed to be stupid," Ian said. "Do you forgive me?"

"Of course I do," Mickey said.


	18. Chapter 18

Ian stood awkwardly outside of Jordan's room while Mickey walked straight in and started joking with Jordan, who apparently was awake. He looked over at the patrolman who was assigned to watch him, who sort of half-smiled and put his back to the wall, looking prepared to wait for however long it took.

Mickey poked his head out of the room. "You get lost Ian? Come on in, man," he said.

Ian was charmed by his quick, wide smile, and walked in. Jordan was sitting up, doped up but smiling at Mickey's antics. "Heard you got shot," he said.

"Your boyfriend saved my life," she said. She glared at Mickey. "He didn't follow orders, but he shot the ringleader. You think that'll earn you brownie points with Svetlana, Mickey?"

Mickey grimaced. "Oh, I'm sure if I was so inclined I could persuade her to perform some wifely duties out of gratitude."

"Please don't joke about Svetlana performing wifely duties. I have nightmares about that," Ian said.

Mickey shrugged. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

Ian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in annoyance.

Jordan eyed the two of them. "I didn't mean to cause anything," she said.

"Svetlana couldn't come between us even when she wanted to, and she doesn't want to now," Mickey said. "Ian knows that. He's just being a shit."

"Well, you're being an asshole," Ian said, annoyance creeping into his tone. It was bizarre that after all this time remembering when Mickey and Svetlana were sleeping together still hurt.

"Is this what it's like when the two of you no longer have a common enemy?" Jordan asked warily.

"Nah, we're just kind of tense," Mickey said.

"Can't you think of a better way to relieve the tension than by fighting in my hospital room?" Jordan asked. She realized what she had said and pointed a finger at Mickey. "That was _not_ an invitation to fuck in my bathroom."

"You can't take it back now," Ian said, grinning.

"Shit. Here I thought he was a nice boy. He's just as bad as you are," she said to Mickey.

"Why do you think I love him?" Mickey said.

Ian couldn't control the flood of warmth that burst through his chest at Mickey's words. He was pretty sure he was looking at Mickey in that sappy way he had when they were kids, because Mickey glanced at him, blushed, and mumbled at him to 'pull it together, man'. Ian laughed softly.

"Go get me a lemonade, Mickey," Jordan said.

"Lemonade? Who the hell wants lemonade?" Mickey asked indignantly.

"I do, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have asked for it," Jordan said.

"I just don't think anyone's ever asked me to get them a fucking lemonade before," Mickey mumbled, leaving Ian and Jordan alone.

"That's a good man," Jordan said. "It took me a while to see it. But I see it now. I know he grew up the dirty kid who didn't know how to read until he was thirteen and beat the shit out of everyone who looked at him funny. I know it must be hard to see that boy grow up to be a better man than you. But he is. He could have anyone. If I hear you fuck him over, I'm going to make sure he drops you. I won't let him self-destruct over you."

Ian's heart was pounding. Jordan had been really nice to him up until now. He'd been under the impression she really liked him, in fact. "I thought you liked me," he said.

"I _do_ like you," she said. "But I _love_ Mickey. He's my brother. And he loves you so much. Don't fuck it up."

"I won't," Ian said. He looked down at the surprisingly dirty-looking hospital floor. "He's so…fierce, you know? He loves _me_. All of me. Even the shitty parts. Even when I'm an asshole, he'd still kill or die for me. Back when we were kids I used to worry he'd lose himself, taking care of me. That he'd spend every minute taking care of me and he'd never, you know, learn who _he_ was. Be his own person. We were young when we fell in love. I'm so proud of the guy he's become."

"Me too," Jordan said.

"I wish I hadn't fucked things up so much," Ian said.

Jordan shrugged, smiling slightly. "You took the long way around. But it looks like you got back to where you belonged."

Ian looked up as someone walked into the room. It was Miles.

"What's the word?" Jordan asked.

"No one's in the wind. All the major players are accounted for, down at the precinct or in the hospital," Miles said.

Jordan glanced at Ian. "Jorez?" she asked.

"He's in questioning. Not talking, but he was pretty surprised we knew his real name. He was pissed when he realized his wife had been talking."

"Phil won't be able to make a deal the way his wife did, will he?" Ian asked.

"There's no way. Even if he could bargain his way out of all the charges against him in the States, he's still on the hook for the charges you found out about in England. No district attorney will be able to negotiate to get those charges dropped even if he sings like a canary."

"Will he know what I did? That I was a part of what happened to him?"

"Not if we don't tell him, and so far, we haven't been. We let him know that we suspected you were spying for him, so we fed you some false information," Miles said.

"Why did you do that?" Ian asked.

"He threatened your family. Little kids. As far as we know, there's no way he can make good on that threat, but why take the risk?"

"I kind of wanted to rub it in his face that I had a hand in taking him down. I guess it's better this way, though. I mean, what does it even matter what he thinks of me? He's nothing. Less than. I care more about keeping the kids safe than bragging to him about how I helped take him down."

"Please tell me you're at least going to break up with that sick fuck, though," Mickey said.

"Yeah, I guess I should," Ian said. "I don't want him to believe he can ever contact me again."

"Can you see that he gets the chance to see Jorez, Miles?" Jordan asked.

Miles agreed, and the next morning, after a night of stale coffee and fitful sleep, Mickey and Ian were standing outside of interrogation. "You sure you want to do this?"

"I want to make sure he doesn't think I had anything to do with taking him down. And I want to break up with and make him believe it," Ian said.

"Well, I'd tell you to be careful, but I know you can play this guy like a fiddle," Mickey said.

Ian nodded. It was true, he knew Phil pretty well by this point, and when Mickey had asked him to do it, he had found he could push and prod Phil to think certain ways. It made Ian a little sick, wondering if he could have simply manipulated the man to let him go all on his own. But even though it had been humiliating to be forced to stay with Phil, it was better this way, because this way Boyanov got taken down, and that was worth a little humiliation.

Ian knew now that he was strong enough to survive a lot of things.

"I'll just be a minute. Will you watch?"

"You want me to?"

"Yeah. I want you to hear it."

Mickey nodded and went around the other door to the room with two-way glass.

Phil was slouched at the table, looking smaller and more dejected than Ian had ever seen him. He was handcuffed to the table, and Ian was pleased that he didn't even feel a moment's pity for the older man. He looked up and brightened at the sight of Ian. "I didn't know they'd let me see you. You've got to get in contact with this lawyer call Adam—"

"—I have to stop you there, Phil. I'm not here to help you. I'm here to say goodbye," Ian said.

"But you can't," Phil said.

Ian wanted to punch him for his whiny, self-entitled tone, but instead he forced his eyes to go dewy and took Phil's hand. "I have to. You have to have suspected…the cops used me to get to you. Those pictures of the surveillance notes…they were left out on purpose," Ian said. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Phil. I never meant to fuck things up for you."

"Are you kidding? Baby, you didn't do anything wrong. I never should have made you live at that brothel. That was the start of all this. And then they used the numbers on your phone to connect a bunch of people together. I was the asshole who let my boyfriend have work numbers you never should have known about. They would have used your phone whether they arrested you or not. At least this way you're out of it. I guess Mickey was just manipulating you then? He wasn't really in love with you?"

Ian smiled slightly. "Actually, he _was_ in love with me. Is. We kind of had a huge screaming match about how he should have told me what he was doing and he can't just decide things for both of us and I get to make my own decisions and how Gallaghers don't snitch. And I mean, turns out…I guess I forgive him. I mean, he thought he was doing the right thing. And Phil, did you know what the people you work for were into? They sold children as sex slaves. Mickey wasn't trying to take you down, he was going after Boyanov. You can't tell me you don't want him and everyone like him in prison. I know you better than that."

Phil shook his head. "I didn't know when I agreed to work with him that he was using my semi-legitimate businesses as a gateway to find clients who had more disturbing interests. When I found out, it disgusted me. But what could I do? He's an international criminal mastermind and he'd just lent me half a million dollars I couldn't pay back. He owned me. The only thing that made my life worthwhile was knowing I could visit you every once and a while."

Ian nearly shook his head in disbelief. Phil had been trapped, so he'd decided the only way he could feel free was by trapping someone else. It was despicable. But he had a role to play, so he smiled as though he found Phil's words comforting. "You should tell the police what you know about Boyanov's business. Everyone is making deals. There's no code of silence these days. Don't go to jail for fifty years for these monsters."

Phil nodded. "Will you visit me? Write? Ian…would you wait for me?"

"I told you, Mickey loves me. He's a good guy, and I know I could love him, too. You know, if you would let me go. I shouldn't have to pay any more for your mistakes, should I? I want to have a good life. He's a good person, and we were really good together when…when we weren't lying to each other and using each other on opposite sides of a police investigation. I think if we started over, we could have a real shot. Don't you think I deserve that?"

Phil's hand tightened on Ian's. "I guess we were kind of over anyway. I just didn't want to admit it. I love you so much, Ian."

"We had some good times," Ian said. He wasn't lying, although almost all of those good times had involved Ian being high on free drugs that Phil had given him so Ian would fuck him. It had hardly been grand romance. Although to a man like Phil, maybe it was.

"I'll miss you. You don't think you can visit or write, even as friends?"

"Mickey wouldn't like that," Ian said.

Jorez nodded. "Well, goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye," Ian said.

Mickey was waiting for him outside the room. He pulled Ian outside and lit him a smoke. "Well, that fuck was a self-deluded asshole. Did he forget he threatened to kill your fucking relatives?"

"He forgot that like the next day. As soon as I was back in line he forgot I'd ever rebelled."

"My dad was like that. I mean, he fucking willfully forgot I'd ever been gay the second I married Svetlana. Fuckin' weird."

"There's nothing weirder than people," Ian mused.

"You got that right," Mickey said.


	19. Chapter 19

It was almost a week later when Mickey and Ian made the trip to Lip Gallagher's house. Well, compound. He'd been there before, several times, but it was like he was seeing it through Ian's eyes this time.

And it was impressive. There were several out buildings, a pool, and a giant main house. Mickey always joked that Lip was such a grade A fuckup that he should enjoy the good life while he could, because somehow he'd lose it all soon enough. Sadly, Lip seemed to agree and always laughed good-naturedly about it.

Success had mellowed Lip a bit, but he still wasn't even close to Mickey's favorite in the family.

The family was overwhelming, even for Mickey, and he'd been to dinners and met them all before. Mickey was sure it was difficult for Ian, meeting children who should have been calling him Uncle Ian for years—and they called Mickey uncle instead.

Mickey and Ian were standing outside on the porch having a smoke when Ian looked over at Mickey with a strange look in his eye. "It's so weird. It's like you took _me_ home to meet _your_ family, not the other way around. You know them better than I do."

"That bother you?" Mickey asked.

"Not—not that you're close with them. I'm glad you were there for each other. I just—shit, I'm just so pissed about missing those years."

Mickey shrugged. "You could have missed those years in the army. If we'd been together when you left, I would have hung out with your family in that case, too. If you wish you were closer to your family, just do it. Just spend more time with them. They all want that. They'll be wary at first, but when they get to know you again, they'll be so fucking happy to have you in their lives. Who wouldn't be?"

Ian took Mickey's cigarette and took a drag. Mickey couldn't believe the way his stomach flipped with desire at the simple action. He wondered if he'd ever lose that. When they'd been together before—when they'd lived together—he'd been surprised to find that he'd never gotten bored with fucking just Ian. Of course, Ian couldn't say the same, but that was then. Things would be different this time.

He was almost sure of it.

"What are you thinking about right now?" Ian asked.

"What the fuck?" Mickey asked. "You sound like a lovesick fourteen year old girl. What the fuck you talking about?"

"Just, you looked really happy, and then, I don't know. Upset. Not so happy. Want to talk about it?"

Mickey shrugged. He would have never said anything before—but he wanted this to work more than anything. He took the cigarette back and inhaled deeply. "I think the only thing I'm worried about, you know, about us getting back together…I don't want to have an open relationship, you know? Not even a little bit."

"That's not what I want. Sleeping around isn't…it doesn't mean anything to me anymore. I did it for a lot of reasons. Because I didn't think I was worthy of anything better…because I thought that gay guys were supposed to be these uninhibited sex machines and monogamy was heteronormative or some bullshit…because I thought I loved you more than you loved me and having sex with someone else was like me showing you and me and everyone that I didn't love you as much as I did…because you hurt me when you married Svetlana and I wanted revenge...because I had so much energy when I was manic and it was a way of getting some kind of frenetic relief from it. I don't know. It never once had anything to do with not loving you."

Mickey snorted a laugh. "It's not like I was some model of monogamous behavior myself. But I really…I don't know. It sounds stupid, but if you cheated on me, it'd really hurt me, you know? And I know I can be faithful to you. I just thought you should know that."

"I won't cheat. I promise you," Ian said. His eyes glinted in the half-light.

Mickey felt a wave of love for him and nestled his nose into the crook of Ian's neck, inhaling deeply. "Love you so much, man. Can't lose you again. Specially over bullshit like cheating."

"You won't," Ian said. He put his arm around Mickey and hugged him so tight it was almost too tight for a second, which was just the way Mickey liked it.

"Sorry for whining about shit that happened like ten years ago. I know you're different now. And I know tonight should be about you and your Gallagher love and all."

"You're right, though. My relationship with my family…that's going to take time, but I know that it's going to happen. I'll wear them down with my sunny grin and willingness to babysit. But you—keeping what we've got? Right now that's my number one priority," Ian said.

"Staying healthy should be your first priority," Mickey said.

"Damn right it should be," Lip said. He emerged from around the corner. He was probably outside to bum a smoke. Bizarrely, his wife had successfully made him quit. He just didn't look right without a smoke. And he routinely bummed them off of Mickey despite the fact he was a millionaire and Mickey barely qualified as middle class based on his salary.

"What is it with your never-ending need to poke your nose into my shit?" Ian asked.

"Fuck you. Like I was listening. Well, I caught the part where you said Mickey fucking Milkovich was more important than your family," Lip said.

"Like you'd take Fiona's side over your wife's," Mickey scoffed.

"You two married?" Lip said. He didn't look surprised at the thought.

"Not yet. Someday," Ian said.

"You should get married," Lip said. "I like being married. I guess. I mean, I fucking hate being married. But you two would like it, I think. I mean, you two are sappy like that."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's exactly how I'd describe us," he said sarcastically.

"Mickey _is_ my family as much as you are," Ian said. Ian looked at Mickey, and his expression was the sappiest one Mickey had ever seen. And Ian had given Mickey some pretty adoring looks over the years.

"See," Lip smirked. "You're adorable."

"Shut up, man," Mickey said.

A few weeks later Jordan pulled Mickey into her office with a jerk of her head. "Jorez is being extradited. He's not to have any contact with his criminal cronies. He talked, but of his own free will, not because of any deal. He knew any deals wouldn't apply to his crimes in Britain."

"I guess he did something decent in the end, then," Mickey said.

"Listen…he wants to talk to Ian. I know they broke up and Ian was ready to wash his hands of the whole thing, but he just wants to prove to the kid that he did something worthwhile. Can you talk to Ian about it?"

"You sympathetic to this guy? Even if he's not into child slavery, he's no hero," Mickey said.

"I'm not sympathetic. It was the only thing I could offer him, but I didn't promise him Ian would agree. I just said I'd let Ian visit one more time if he wanted to."

"When's he leaving the country?"

"Couple of days. He gave good intel, Mick, and his friends know it. None of those gangsters will ever do what he says again. He's a snitch," Jordan said.

"What are you saying?"

"Just…if Ian wants to have an honest conversation with Jorez, I don't think he'll be able to hurt Ian where he's going. Not now that he's burned bridges with all his criminal friends."

Mickey was surprised that Ian readily agreed to see Jorez as soon as he knew he could tell him the truth about what happened. Like before, Ian insisted that Mickey watch the conversation from behind two-way glass. This was a completely different conversation than the last one, though.

Jorez tried to brag about his involvement with the investigation, hoping that would impress Ian.

Ian responded by giving a detailed account of everything he'd done to help the police investigation. He said he was in love with Mickey and that looking at Jorez made him feel ill.

The man was stunned. "What did I ever do to you that you hate me so much?"

"You threatened my family. You virtually held me prisoner. I don't know what you think our relationship was up until this point, but I wanted to be broken up for years. You manipulated and controlled me and abused everyone who worked for you. You're a terrible person. Maybe the fact that you hang around with people who are complete monsters has allowed you to believe that you're not that bad, but you _are_ that bad. Yeah, they're worse, but that doesn't make you prince charming. If I had any say in the matter, I never would have been with you again after realizing that you were married."

"But I explained all that," Jorez said.

"I don't give a shit about your explanations!" Ian said. "I'm my own person and I have a right to do what I want. Don't you even know what love is? It's not controlling someone. It's not what _you_ want all the time. If you really loved me, you would have walked away when I said I couldn't be with you anymore. Instead you forced me into your sick fucking criminal dealings. I have to live with the fact that I had something to do with your sick fucking business for the rest of my life. I hate you and I always will. I know I owe Mickey a lot for his part in all of this, but more than anything I'm thankful that he let me help take you and Boyanov down."

"I never would have killed your family. That was just something I said. I didn't mean it," Jorez said.

"I don't believe you. I almost wish I did, even though it would make me even more of a fool for staying with you. But I know what you're capable of. You may be playing the innocent abroad who got caught up with things beyond his control, but I know you. I know better. I've seen the way your eyes get hard. I hope you stay in prison for the rest of your life," Ian said.

"You better hope I do. Because the second I get out of jail, I'm coming for you," Jorez said.

Mickey was stunned at the transformation. For a minute he'd almost believed that Jorez was an okay guy. After all, Mickey had been a pimp once, too. It didn't mean the guy was a monster. But Ian was right. Jorez's eyes were hard, almost reptilian, and he looked ready to spring. Mickey went to the door and opened it, pulling Ian away even though Jorez was handcuffed to a table.

"You think you know him? You think he loves you? He deceived me for years. I thought he really loved me. What kind of a man is capable of that?"

Mickey ignored him and pulled Ian out of the room.

"What are the chances he gets murdered in prison?" Ian asked. He was shaking.

"They're pretty good if we include his involvement with child sex rings in the file that gets sent to the prison, which, oops, we're going to," Jordan said. "We might let it drop that he's a snitch, too. If he makes it to trial we'll know he was born with a four-leaf-clover up his ass. He'll never survive a stint, though. Guaranteed."

Mickey looked at Jordan. "Can I take him home now?"

"I need to talk to you Mick. It'll just be a second. Can you hold it together for a little bit, Ian?"

"Don't worry about me," Ian said.

Mickey did worry about him, but he allowed Miles to take Ian into the breakroom to get a donut and followed Jordan into her office. "What do you need?"

"You can't guess? Mickey, we got the guy who bought and sold your sister-in-law. We destroyed the entire ring. Technically, you only agreed to work with us until the end of that case."

"You firing me?"

"Not even a little bit. Look, I'm going to take some time. Cases like this…it takes a really long time to get over the shit you see. Cops aren't even supposed to be on cases as emotionally draining as this for as long as we have. Stress and all. But I want to keep following the strings. I want to fucking wreck this industry, at least in Chicago. And I want your help. But I'm going to take a really long vacation first."

"A long vacation? For you that's what, a couple of days?"

"Three weeks. You gonna come back when I come back?"

"Yeah. I'm going to come back," Mickey said. He probably should have talked to Ian about it, but he was pretty sure Ian knew and approved of how committed Mickey was to the idea of putting these scumbags behind bars.

"Thanks. You go take care of your boy," she said.


	20. Chapter 20

**Epilogue** ** _One Year Later_**

It hadn't taken as much as Ian had thought it would to make Svetlana forgive him for leaving. Mickey had called her up one day and been exasperated with the way she was talking about the love of his life, and had said, "You know, we couldn't have caught Boyanov without Ian's help."

"Fine. You bring orange boy to dinner Sunday. I make nice," she said.

And surprisingly, she had.

Mandy had taken longer, but soon enough she, too, was in Ian's fanclub again. Even Mickey's former fuckbuddy Andy liked Ian, and Ian had reluctantly conceded that Andy was not a threat in any way to his and Mickey's happiness.

Because Mickey? He was making all of Ian's teenaged fantasies of the person Mickey could become come true daily. He treated Ian the way Ian had always wanted him to, but he hadn't lost that Mickey edge that Ian craved.

And they'd finally moved into the new house, with the studio and the pool, and room for both the kids to stay as long as they wanted to.

Mickey had been asked to go to police training and become a cop for real, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, so he remained at the police force in a civilian capacity. He couldn't join the union so he wasn't paid as much as he could have been, but he also didn't have to narc on anyone he didn't want to or call himself a cop. Stupid as that sounded, it was worth the disparity in pay to Mickey, and Ian didn't mind one way or the other.

Ian's internet career never made him rich, but he had a limited kind of fame and enough income to help out around the house. And he _loved_ the house. Ian had never considered himself particularly materialistic, but having a house where his family could visit him, and Mickey's kids could have friends over without being ashamed, made him really proud.

He and Mickey even had a few dinner parties, although Mickey wouldn't let him call them that.

The Gallaghers were still fuckups. Lip had a few run-ins with the law and had to bow his head and ask Mickey to use his connections with the police to help out, and Mickey hadn't even been all that smug about helping.

Like Mickey had said all those years ago, they took care of each other: thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit.


End file.
